


The Great Thing About the Conclave is How it Fucks People Over

by MorganOfTheFey



Series: OTP: Kintsukuroi [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A/B/O, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Mates, Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, but it isn't shown in the fic, how could I forget the pining, it's implied Adaar doesn't want to come out bc transphobia Exists, thought to be unrequited but actually mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: Adaar has spent her whole life keeping secrets and the last several years running--from the Qun, from her past, and from the golden string that's probably connected to her mate. Then it all goes to shit and she's forced to actually stay and take responsibility for once, even if that means finally meeting the person tied to her string of fate ...xxx(quick drabble of how Adaar and Cullen meet, set in the a/b/o universe with actual social commentary that no one asked for)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey so this is the new ship that's stolen my soul, but I'm just writing drabbles for them right now because I clearly can't be trusted to complete full fics
> 
> the basic setup of this universe is that Adaar can see the bonds connecting people, including the golden string she's always had that she suspects is a mate bond. "mates" are sort of an ideal myth--everyone knows about them and lots of people proclaim to find their true mate, but then again, lots of people think that's superstitious unproven bullshit

So the Conclave exploded.

Which is pretty on par for Adaar's luck. Attending the stupid thing had only been about making contacts, earning enough coin to get up to the Free Marches, away from more trouble, and all-the-fuck-away from the golden string in her chest winding tighter and tighter.

Instead Daar wakes up shackled in dungeon with a killer headache.

Four guards, three alphas and a beta, two in front, left-and-right. Shiny new breastplates--so new recruits or the B-list of soldiers not actually important enough to be at the conclave itself--with a dark reflection in each one from the two guards behind her.

Actually, her hand might be hurting worse than her head.

They're all breathing loudly enough to be heard. So no real training in stealth or interrogation, giving their positions away this easily. Probably just whatever fuckos still left alive that could be scrounged up.

Is hand-ache a word? She has a pounding hand-ache.

No shackles on her feet though, which is a plus. Her right cheek has gone numb from how long it's been pressed against the floor, face-down-ass-up where they tossed her. Must not have seen the point in securing her feet too, since she was unconscious and surrounded by guards.

Their mistake.

Adaar sits up just to fuck with them, and sure enough, the nervous little humans all immediately draw their swords and even point them at her. She fights down a chuckle. The shackles on her hands are connected by a thick metal bar meant to restrict her movement, but actually will just provide a convenient bludgeoning weapon.

Get the metal bar beneath the front-left-guard's sword and knock it up into his stupid face, use the momentum to stand-turn-block the next guard's sword thrust, quick side step behind him, capture his head between the bar and her chest—boom, hostage taken and a nice little meat shield to keep between her and the other guards as she escapes.

Daar coughs and slumps forward to get closer to front-left-fucko, just a little closer and—

Pain lances through her left hand like a million tiny spiders are crawling through her veins to eat her from the inside out. At least it's not her right side. She's already missing a horn on that side, so it's nice that the world is switching it up a little, fucking over her left now instead. It really is the little things.

The doors open while she's still curled up and gasping on the floor. Great first impression. Really showing off her alpha dominance. Instead that goes to whoever has the metal boots--heavy steps, left foot first so likely right-handed, halts in a firm stance, feet shoulder-width apart. A soldier, someone in command from the way Alpha pheromones waft off of her, plus the other fuckos all put their swords away.

And someone else behind her with lighter steps and a subtler scent, maybe a rogue or—

A hand yanks Adaar up to a kneeling position by her one good horn, and the warrior woman strides back around in front of her.

"Tell me why we shouldn't just kill you now," she demands.

Thick Nevarran accent. Chantry heraldry on her heavy metal armor and on the lighter leather armor of the woman behind her. A warrior and a rogue, both Alphas, one Nevarran, interrogating her right after the Conclave exploded ...

Daar grins up at the Left and Right Hands of the Divine. "I'd take three of your boys and one of you with me."

The Right Hand decides to make use of her title with a hard right hook. This time Daar does chuckle after spitting blood on the floor.

"Cassandra, stop." The Left Hand grabs her partner by the shoulder to stop another blow. "We need her."

Her? Holy shit, is she passing right now? Adaar resists the urge to look down at her chest, but she does send out a prayer of gratitude. Maker bless those Dalish blood elves. Apparently tits were just what she needed to push "excuse me sir--uh, ma'am uhhhhhh whatever you are?" into finally being a _her_.

Plus, that admission of need gives away a lot. They must really be knee deep in druffalo shit for the Left to admit that out loud. It does give the Right pause though—Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, if Daar remembers correctly, famous lineage of dragon hunters, lived up to the hype herself.

Despite a lack of dragon-slaying under her belt, the other woman is just as formidable. Leliana, a hero of the humans' Blight they had going on a while back. Three of the four guards have faint loyalty strings connecting them to Pentaghast, but the fourth string coming from the beta behind her to the right leads to the spymaster.

"The Conclave is destroyed," Pentaghast says, accusation lacing her tone as if Adaar had personally exploded everything and then pissed on the aftermath. "Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

"That's tragic," Daar replies, then holds up her barred hands in supplication when Pentaghast lunges at her again. "Hey, truly! No sarcasm. But also, not my fault and not my problem."

The Seeker takes her hand and shakes it. "Then explain this."

"Can't." Adaar looks down at her hand and scowls. "Fuck. I was really hoping you'd tell me."

"What do you mean you can't?" Pentaghast demands.

Daar shrugs. "I'm Qunari. I don't know a godshitdamn thing about magic, and I sure as fuck don't know what this thing is or how it got on me. In me? Is it in m—"

Pentaghast grabs Adaar's tunic and yanks her close, teeth bared. "You're lying!"

The air practically suffocates itself with alpha pheromones as the Seeker tries to force her dominance. Adaar ignores the press of instinct against her mind and keeps her breathing steady, calmly making eye contact with Pentaghast. The other woman starts a low growl deep in her chest, but Daar refuses to look away or even growl back. She has no need to compete for dominance because she is the dominant Alpha in the room.

The shackles, kneeling position, and lack of weapons are all just minor details.

"Cassandra."

Leliana's voice cuts through the display, and Pentaghast reluctantly moves back. The Left Hand cocks her head in consideration, and Daar openly studies her right back. Less powerful scent, not as physically intimidating, but clearly a smarter breed of alpha with a better handle on her instincts.

Then again, the Seeker herself is at least smart enough to step down and let the cooler head handle this. If it were two male alphas interrogating her, Daar probably could have provoked them and made good on her original escape plan in the chaos of a room full of enraged alphas all fighting for dominance.

But no. Figures that with her luck, it would be two other women smart enough to play off of each other's strengths.

"Do you remember what happened?" Leliana asks. "How this began?"

"Really loving the bad Hand, good Hand act," Daar replies. "But no."

Leliana crouches down in front of her, voice soft with implied threat. "Nothing?"

Adaar considers her options. There's no particular reason to hold back that information, but she generally tends to be a contrary, spiteful asshole on principle. Also, these humans have her locked up and shackled in a dungeon, so there isn't any reason to give away extra info either.

On the other hand ...

The demon-possessed one, that is. The possessed, green-glowing, magic-sparking, much-hurting other hand that she doesn't know anything about fixing.

"I was inside a nightmare," she finally says.

Leliana starts to ask another question, but she cuts her off.

"Ah! No. You asked, and I'm telling you what I remember, as I remember it," Daar says. "So. Inside a nightmare. Dark and green, lots of spiders, trying to run but the air feels like molasses. You know, typical nightmare shit. And I had to run up this mountain. I think there was a woman at the top."

Leliana interrupts. "A woman?"

"Something glowing white, looked a lot better than the darkness and spider-monsters, so I went for her. Trying to grab her hand."

Daar trails off, and the room is silent for a long moment. The guards are starting to share looks like _can you believe this shit_ , but it's Pentaghast who speaks up first.

"And then?"

Daar shrugs. "That's where the memory stops. No waking up, fade to black, sense of falling. Just ... that's it. Over."

Pentaghast comes to some sort of decision. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the Rift."

Leliana nods and leaves. Interesting to watch two alphas share authority so easily, but the string connecting the two of them seems thicker than just duty. Friends, not lovers or family, if Daar had to guess.

"Anyone wanna explain what the 'Rift' is?" she asks. "Since I've been such a good sport about all this and didn't kill your guards."

Pentaghast turns back around and stoops to grab her by the shackle bar. Just as another show of good sportsmanship, Adaar doesn't twist around, turn her head, and then throw it back to drive her good horn into the Seeker's face. Could jam it up under her jaw, into her neck, or even straight through her eye with a really luck hit.

Daar lets herself be yanked to her feet instead, because she's a good fucking person like that. "Seriously though. What did happen?"

Pentaghast just clips a chain onto the shackle bar in answer and tugs her forward. Probably shouldn't have brought up killing the guards again if she wanted the shackles off. Actually, she might need to be less aggressive in general to keep passing? But Leliana and Pentaghast are clearly in charge of whatever's going on down here, despite being female.

So new gratitude prayer: Maker bless Thedas and its acceptance of strong alpha females.

"It will be easier to show you," Pentaghast finally states as she leads the way outside.

The sunlight glinting off snow hurts, but even more overwhelming are all the strings. There's only a few people left at this village, but every one of them has strings fading off into the distance connecting them to friends, family, loved ones, superior officers--knowing Fereldans, probably even their damn dogs.

And then there's her own hand, hundreds of strings sprouting out as if she's holding a tree trunk of yarn.

Adaar has to take a moment just to blink it all away, like deliberately ignoring a pebble in her boot she can never, ever take out. The Seeker, of course, has no such problem. It's unlikely she's been Touched, although supposedly Seekers do gain their own special gifts as a result of their training.

Whatever gifts Pentaghast may or may not have, it's clearly not seeing the strings of fate, since she ignores it all to point at the Rift. Even not knowing anything about what happened to her hand or in the last few hours in general, Adaar immediately recognizes the big clusterfuck in the sky can only be the Rift.

"It's a massive rift into the world of demons," Pentaghast explains. "And it grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift, just the largest. And all were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

"I come to Fereldan, Fereldan explodes," Adaar mutters. "What's the worst you think could happen in the Free Marches? Should I resign myself to Anderfels now or is the sky falling over there too?"

The Seeker's lips quick in wry amusement before it's quickly tamped down. "No more than usual—so far. But if we do not act soon, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world. So is this your problem now?"

"Just because I'm one of the fuckos who lives in the world doesn't mean—"

The Breach expands, and Adaar's hand spasms, yanked up into the air by the sheer force of the strings connecting her to the rift. Pain lances through her arm again, magical sparks flying as the strings throb until she's not sure what are strings only she can see and what's actually visible.

When the pain finally eases, she's back on her knees in the snow, curled around her hand.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads ..."

Pentaghast reaches for her hand again, but Adaar finally gives into instinct and bares her teeth in a snarl. The Seeker stops, although she refuses to drop her point.

"It is killing you," she insists. "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

"How?" Adaar grits out through her teeth, slowly sitting back up again.

"It may close the Breach."

"May?"

"I suppose we shall discover whether that's possible shortly," Pentaghast says. "But it is our only chance. And yours."

Adaar forces herself to her feet, grumbling profanity in Qunlat the whole time. "Still think I caused this mess? Did this—" She unclenches her hand enough for more green light to spill out. "To myself?"

The Seeker shrugs. "Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong."

"Yeah." Adaar scoffs. "A bunch of humans got together in one place, there was some religion involved, and this happened. Actually no. I want to shorten that to 'a bunch of humans got together in one place'."

Pentaghast glares harder. "Someone is responsible for all this. And you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? Then do so."

Adaar closes her eyes and breathes out slowly. This isn't her fucking problem. She came to Thedas to get away from duty, obligations, responsibility. She didn't cause any of this, and she sure as hell didn't ask for it.

But when she opens her eyes again, all she can see are the strings. Less than a hundred people here, but so many strings, all of them tying back to even more people.

And they're all in danger now.

Sure, the soldiers down here can handle themselves. If not, it's still none of her business. But each of those strings represents a wife or a husband or a kid, civilians who can't defend themselves and don't deserve this shit. What kind of alpha—what kind of person—would she be if she didn't even try to save them?

"One," Adaar growls, making eye contact with Pentaghast again. "I'll do what it takes to close this one rift, and then I'm done."

"You—"

"No." She cuts off the Seeker. "You said this rift caused all the others. Maybe closing it will shut those down too."

"And if it doesn't?" Pentaghast asks.

"You'll know how closing them works and you can stick one of these things on some other convenient political scapegoat," Adaar says.

Pentaghast frowns. "We did not—"

"Sure." Adaar jerks her head to the people who have stopped to watch them, muttering under their breath and occasionally pointing at her. "It's just pure coincidence that the very dangerous magical thing, the one that slowly kills whoever bears it, somehow ended up on the Qunari—who is also your only suspect."

"Everyone else is dead. I—" The Seeker stops herself and pinches the bridge of her nose. "We do not have time for this. Just move."

She jerks on the chain, and Adaar bites back a comment on how the shackles are kind of proving her point here. More people line up along the path to watch them go, a crowd of angry faces.

"They have decided your guilt," Pentaghast admits. "They need it. The people of Haven mourn the Divine."

"Yeah, well I mourn my mercenary crew." Adaar almost feels bad about throwing that in the Seeker's face, since she can actually see her own strings of loyalty still emerging unsevered from her chest. "And the loss of my sword. Hell, maybe I'm really sad about the Divine too. Don't see me picking up a pitchfork."

Her mention of the Divine sparks a reaction among the near-mob, and some cocky alpha asshole steps forward.

"What'd you say about her Most Holy?" he demands.

"Stand down," Pentaghast orders. "I am escorting the suspect to Commander Rutherford, and we will get to the bottom of this."

The soldier tries to hold eye contact with her, but he only lasts another second before looking away, ducking his head in submission. Adaar casually scans the crowd, noting the people in it that try to hold her eyes for a battle of dominance too, sweeping right past without giving them the satisfaction.

"Move."

The command works for both Adaar and the chastised soldier, as she follows after Pentaghast and he steps out of their way. The mumbled comment about her being a "dumb cow" is expected, but she catches something about a "beta" too. Not even this idiot could miss her being an alpha, and he certainly isn't talking about the Seeker. Which only leaves Rutherford, but he has the title Commander in front of his name.

Then again, the whole reason she came to Thedas was because they put biology before gender. Didn't matter so much if you were male or female, so long as you were an alpha.

Which made a beta in command ... interesting.

"This was a chance for peace, you know." Pentaghast's stern lecture voice cuts through Adaar's musings. "A truce between mages and templars. The Divine brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead."

“That sucks."

The Seeker turns to shoot her a scathing glare. Adaar just shrugs again.

“Oh no, the humans aren’t getting along again and have decided to solve it by killing lots of each other. The world is shocked. Stunned. Shook, I tell you."

“Shaken,” Pentaghast corrects. “And this amount of lost life is nothing to be flippant about."

Adaar figures she doesn’t have anything else to say that won’t result in getting shoved off the mountain, so she keeps her mouth shut. Just this once. Maker, she’s being such a good person today. They approach a gate, which is immediately opened for the Seeker.

"We lash out, like the sky." Pentaghast shoots her a pointed look. "Or with careless words. But we must think beyond ourselves, as the Divine did, until the Breach is sealed."

"Will any of this progressive thinking get these shackles off?" Adaar asks.

The Seeker scowls at her unapologetic self-serving nature. "You did threaten to kill me and my guards."

"Literally the first thing you said to me was a death threat."

Pentaghast considers that, then says. "You will get a trial. I can promise no more."

Adaar lifts her hands up with both eyebrows raised. The other alpha sighs.

"Let us see what Commander Rutherford has to say. Perhaps I am biased in my mistrust of you." Then her eyes narrow. "But perhaps I have good instincts."

This time it's Adaar who heaves a sigh.

"Come. It is not far."

"Yeah, and where is it exactly?"

The Seeker ignores her question and sets out across the bridge. “Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach."

Adaar follows before the chain pulls taut, walking tall with her head high and back straight as a group of humans gathered to the right begin to whisper about her. The priest at their head starts to pray, and that at least gets them to shut up and bow their heads. Pentaghast calls for the gate to be opened at the other end, and Daar learns they’re apparently going into the valley.

The path on the other side has been partially blocked off with makeshift barricades, but Daar can see up ahead that most of them are on fire. The two of them march on regardless, toward the glow of the Breach, even as humans run past them screaming that it’s the end of the world. Adaar imagines lots of them screamed that the last time they got too ambitious and caused their Blight.

“I would like to further amend my earlier statement,” she announces, ignoring that Pentaghast is ignoring her. “To ‘a bunch of humans.’ That’s all we really need to say to sum up how this happened."

“These people are terrified, and yet you mock—"

The Seeker’s lecture dies in her throat as another shockwave hits Adaar. She staggers again but manages to keep her feet this time, although only just.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face."

Daar groans. She really can’t decide if another pulse will kill her or save her from all this stern-but-caring lecturing. Pentaghast offers her a hand up from where she’s slumped back against steep snow and rock hill to their right, but she eyes the offer disdainfully before straightening up on her own, making sure to rattle the chain connected to her shackles to underline her distrust of the other woman’s good will.

“They said you stepped out of a rift,” Pentaghast continues as they start walking again. “Then you fell unconscious."

Adaar clenches and unclenches her left hand without replying. Out of a rift. That implies she had to be inside it first in order to step out. Dreaming is supposed to be touching the Fade, and she had thought she was inside a nightmare.

But stepping out meant she was physically inside. Not dreaming. Her body, inside the Fade, then coming back out.

“They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

Daar feels the Seeker’s eyes on her, waiting for an answer. She’s tired and in exactly three fucktons of pain—bit of medical terminology there—so what the hell. She gives one.

“Andraste,” Adaar says, just throwing it out there to see how Pentaghast will react.

“You … believe that was Andraste?” she asks slowly. “Does that not make you a woman of faith?"

“Said I might be real sad about the Divine."

“You—truly?” Pentaghast stops and looks her up and down. “You are an Andrastian?"

“I’m fucking cold,” Daar replies.

Pentaghast makes a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat and whirls away, tugging a bit more on the chain than she needs to. Daar makes use of the little leeway the chain gives her to edge away from the next burning wagon they pass.

“Is everything up here on fire?"

“Yes,” Pentaghast answers curtly. “Everything farther up the valley was laid waste. Including the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” She slows her stomp-march and sighs. “I suppose you will see soon enough."

“Great,” Daar mutters. “Come to Fereldan. See the sights. Should’ve saved longer for a ship directly to the Free Marches."

The Seeker growls in response to her grumbling. “Come on."

They pass yet even more burning shit, but then finally they’re on another bridge, which is not on fire, thank the Ma--

Pulse.

Pain.

Big flash!

Falling, bracing for the gro—GROUND.

“Fuuuck.” Daar pushes up onto her elbows, snow and strings and shadows all blurring together in her sight. “Seeker?"

She’s answered by the scream of a demon. A shark-smile spreads on her own face. Finally something to take her anger out on.

Up on her feet, past the pain trying to push her back down, and the demon lunges for her first. Adaar slams the metal bar between her wrists into its arm, knocking the swiping claws away then backhands it to the ground on the backswing. Stomps the hard heel of her boot down on its neck, crushing tendon and larynx into the frozen ice.

Another unholy scream cuts the air, to the left, Pentaghast up and already slaying a demon of her own. The chain connected to Daar’s shackles hangs down loose without the Seeker’s firm grip on it.

Make a run for it. Four demons close in on the other woman. She won’t notice an escape.

This isn’t Adaar’s problem and there’s no reason not to haul ass out of this clusterfuck, follow the strings of her crew back to the regroup point, just buy a new sword. So the sky is falling—dwarves have lived underground for millennia now. She could too if she crouched.

Daar gives herself one moment to revel in the fantasy, another to growl out “Maker’s sweaty balls breath” after accepting she can’t just walk away.

Then she charges at the demons surrounding Pentaghast, barreling into one with a hard shoulder check that sends it toppling down. Swings the chain up and catches it in her right hand to loop it around the neck of the next-nearest demon, a hard pull and a sharp twist snapping vertebrae.

The third demon hurls itself at her in a rage of shrieks and talons, unnaturally long arms bound to reach Daar before she can get close enough to put it down. She snaps the chain up into its face instead. It instinctively recoils, the split second respite giving Pentaghast time to cut it down from behind, the fourth demon already bleeding out on the ground.

A moment of chilled silence hangs in the air after the last demon falls. No groans or screams from the guards that were ahead of them on the bridge, so at least they died quick in the blast. Ten feet farther and the two of them would add their own silence to the mountain, but that’s the way of a soldier’s life, and both women brush that thought off to lock eyes.

“Give me the chain,” Pentaghast demands.

Adaar just laughs.

“Now!"

Daar shakes her head, smile still as sharp as the sword pointed at her. “If you’re gonna lead me through a demon infested valley in shackles, I think trusting me to hold my own leash is the least you can do."

The Seeker’s ever-present scowl doesn’t waver. “Give me one reason to trust you."

“I didn’t run off, I saved your life, I don’t want the world to explode, two of us can get farther than one, it’s my ass on the li—"

“Oh Maker, fine.” Pentaghast lowers her sword and her face finally softens as well. “I suppose you are right. And … I should remember you did come willingly."

Daar wiggles the end of the chain in her hand. “Willing-ish."

“Must you play your own devil’s advocate?"

“I’m a wicked girl."

Pentaghast scoffs again at her lecherous wink. “If you truly are going to help, then we need to hurry."

Daar looks up at the swirling cloud where green magic crackles out like lightning. Another meteorite of Fade-debris and demons spews out, this time shooting to the north. The ground shudders when it hits.

That daydream about running away had been so stupid. Honestly, where else would she possibly go except toward the Giant Sky Whirlpool of Death?

That’s just the sort of life decision Adaar makes.

And of course the next ridge they come over is swarming with demons down below because that’s just how life treats her as karma for her piss poor decisions. Although one good thing Daar has to admit about the world ending is that now all her demons are on the outside. She can’t punch all her metaphorical inner demons, but boy buddy can she beat the guts out of a real life demon fucko.

BAM! Suck my fuck, dysphoria. POW! Eat placenta, trust issues. BOOM! Die from a bear, “poor anger management skills."

“They’re falling from the Breach!” Pentaghast shouts as another shockwave thunders.

Daar quickly slips the coin purse she just looted off one of the many bodies strewn across the valley into her boot. Pentaghast looks back to make sure she’s following, and she stands, shaking her head.

“Thought I heard a groan from that one,” she says.

The Seeker’s scowl darkens. “The dead rising again is just what we need."

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Again?"

Pentaghast sets off toward the statues guarding a flight of stairs up the mountain path. “Yes. During Blights, that is an occasional … hindrance."

Daar bites back a comment about how much humans have single-handedly managed to fuck up the world. Couldn’t just have the demons bubbling up out of the Deep Roads. Nooo, they managed to get the dead walking too, and now some asshole topped even that with demons falling from the sky.

She’d be impressed if she didn’t want to shake them like tiny, arrogant little babies.

“We’re getting closer to the Rift,” Pentaghast says. “You can hear the fighting."

Daar struggles to keep pace. The steps are just so Fade-taken small. One step is three-fourths of her usual stride, but two is a step-and-a-half, and she keeps hitting them in the middle where ice has slicked the edges.

“Who’s ... fighting?” she asks between huffs.

Pentaghast doesn’t slow. “You’ll see soon. We must help them."

“Maker help … my fat … fucking … ass … up this god … goddamn mountain!"

There’s a loud shout farther up the path and the Seeker takes off running. Daar tips her head back and groans at the sky, then kicks it into a light jog after her. Another collapsed bridge partially on fire—she’s really loving this scenic route they’re taking—and then a courtyard that—

Adaar’s left hand throbs again, then tugs sharply. She didn’t know strings could do that, but when she glances down, one of them glows brighter than the rest, wound tight like it ends just around the corner.

Even worse, the golden string that’s always been with her looks tighter too.

Daar slows and stops. That string could mean anything. A best friend. A long-lost sibling. Hell, maybe a really good mentor. Yeah. It doesn’t have to connect to her mate.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head, and takes another look. The pillars and debris surrounding the courtyard block most of her view of the people fighting inside, but she can smell—damnshitfuck—a beta and an omega. Probably male, because the chances of running into another trans person are—

“Adaar get up here!” Pentaghast bellows. “She was right behind—damn!"

Is her string actually connecting to one of the men? It could be going past them. Daar scents the air again and scrunches up her nose. The omega smells far too strong, sickly cloying. Please, Maker, don’t force another omega male to be—

The most apostate-looking elven apostate mage she’s ever scene comes running out of the courtyard. The saccharine scent strengthens, and that distraction lets him grab her hand before she can flinch back.

“Quickly!” he shouts, already pulling on the bar shackling her hands. “Before more come through!"

Her string, is her string—

Her hand sparks like fire, and Adaar stumbles after the omega in a haze of pain until they’re inside the courtyard, three-four-five demons threatening to overwhelm Pentaghast as the beta male covers her from behind with a crossbow. The mage lifts her hands in the air, and the left jerks up toward the rift in the middle of all the chaos.

Another pulse shoots through her body and the rift shudders, then collapses in on itself. The demons all shriek at once, jerking like they’ve been electrocuted. Pentaghast and the dwarf quickly finish them off in their weakened state while Daar jerks her hands out of the elf’s grasp. She stumbles to the side, finally getting her first good look at him ...

And her string still trailing off into the distance past him.

Daar falls back on her ass, laughing with relief. He’s not her mate. Even with her shit luck, the Maker wouldn’t be cruel enough to make another omega male stuck with her, not after how badly she’d fucked up with the last one.

Pentaghast stalks up to her. “Where were you? Stop laughing!” She whirls around to confront the mage. “What did you do?"

“I did nothing,” he states. “The credit is all hers."

The three of them all turn to look at Daar, sitting in the snow and grinning like an idiot. She moves her right hand in a little wave.

“Hey."

Pentaghast looms over her again. “Where. Were. You."

“You know, I’ve had a really bad day,” Daar says. “And in case you haven’t noticed, this thing fucking hurts. Plus, a lot of shit around here is on fire. That demon there was made of fire. I don’t fuck with that."

“You do not have a choice which demons you fuck with!"

“You hear that boys? We gotta fuck _all_ the demons. It’s a dirty job, but someone—"

“Get up!” The Seeker grabs the front of her tunic, and Daar allows herself to be hauled to her feet. “Take this seriously or I take your hand."

Daar brightens and looks past her to the mage. The one who isn’t her mate.

“Is that an option?” she asks.

The mage stares at her. “To … cut off your hand?”

“Yeah.”

No one speaks for a long moment, but Daar still feels their judgment.

“Oh what, wolves can gnaw off their limbs but I can’t?” she complains.

“No,” the mage says slowly. “The mark needs a living source, which is likely why it’s killing you. Every time the Breach expands, it drains more of your life-force, although closing the rifts may—"

“Will you help us?” Pentaghast interrupts. “Actually help?"

Adaar arranges her face into an expression of sincerity. “Yes. I’m sorry I lagged behind. The Rift was something I haven’t seen before, and I was scared."

Pentaghast narrows her eyes. “You were scared.

“Magic hasn’t exactly been common in my life,” she answers with a shrug.

The Seeker continues to search her face for signs of deceit. She might have training in detecting lies through scent as well, if her senses are strong enough. But everything Daar said was factually true. Just not connected. The rift was certainly a new experience and she was scared, but the former didn’t cause the latter. Her fear had been entirely from the possibility of meeting her mate and … Maker, just thinking about it made her stomach lurch again.

Pentaghast finally nods and turns to question the mage next. “How did she close the rift?"

“Whatever magic opened the Breach also placed that mark on your hand,” he explains. “I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake. And it seems I was correct."

Daar looks down at her still-sparking left hand and gives a grunt of lazy half-interest. How and why could be answered after the sky stopped literally falling and spewing demons.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Pentaghast says.

“Possibly.” The mage turns his attention back on Daar. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

Adaar makes a face. She came to Thedas to have a good time, fight a few trolls, and be recognized as a woman. The only salvation she wants is making a Chantry sister scream hallelujah. And maybe a Templar or two. They're assholes, but damn do they make it look good.

“Good to know,” the dwarf finally speaks up. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He walks over and grins up at Daar as he introduces himself. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally … unwanted tagalong."

The wink he sends Pentaghast gets the same disgruntled scoff Daar got earlier, but she likes his style.

“You with the Chantry too?” Daar asks, raising her eyebrow at him.

The mage chuckles. “Was that a serious question?"

“Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you.” Tethras takes another glance at her shackles and amends his statement with a wry grin. “Well. Perhaps a little less than you."

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Pentaghast says, a note of defensiveness in her tone. “Clearly that is no longer necessary."

Tethras spreads his arms. “Yet here I am! Lucky for you, considering current events."

He looks back toward Daar, and she looks him over in return. Neither of them bother to posture for dominance, but he doesn’t look away or duck his head in submission either. Daar doesn’t mind. With a sickass crossbow like that, she wouldn’t submit to anyone either.

“Adaar,” she says by way of introduction. “Nice crossbow."

“Ah, isn’t she?” Tethras says with pride. “Bianca and I have been through a lot together."

“Good name too.” Daar grins. “I named my sword after a dick joke that doesn’t translate into Fereldan well."

Tethras laughs. “Of course."

Pentaghast mutters “of course” at the same time in an entirely different tone, and the mage’s snort seems to echo her sentiment. Daar decides she likes the dwarf best.

“I think you and me are going to get along real well,” he tells Daar. “And Bianca here will be great help in the valley."

“Absolutely not,” Pentaghast immediately says. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—"

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” he interrupts. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me."

The next noise she makes sounds closer to disgust. Tethras shoots Daar a look as she stomps away, and the mage takes that as an opportunity to introduce himself next. Daar tamps down on her own disgust as he moves closer. It’s not his fault he’s bald and smells bad. He probably smells just fine to everyone else.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he says. “I am pleased to see you still live."

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,” Tethras tells her.

Adaar stiffens, eyes immediately locking onto the mage. How much of her did he examine? No, he can’t have done anything below the waist. She isn’t injured there, her clothes weren’t out of shape, and there’s no way Leliana would have called her “she” if they all knew she had a dick.

But the damage has already been done, and Daar can see Solas straighten in turn. Shit. Probably thinks she was worried about him touching her with his dirty mage hands. That’s unfortunate, but she’s not going to risk her newfound passing just to spare this stranger’s feelings.

So she takes a breath and deflects.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all."

The wariness doesn’t leave his eyes, but Solas relaxes a bit at that.

“Solas is an apostate,” Pentaghast speaks up.

Daar frowns. “I thought all of them are now. You know, technically, since your little mage jails fell."

The Seeker’s mouth tightens. “Circles."

“Can they leave?"

Pentaghast doesn’t reply.

“All right,” Daar says. “If a mage in a ‘Circle’ wants to get up in the middle of the night and make themself a burrito, can they at least do that?"

“Why—"

“Yes or no."

“… No."

“Then they’re prisoners inside a mage jail,” Daar concludes.

“Adaar is correct,” Solas says. “Technically, we are all apostates now.” He looks back at Daar when Pentaghast stays silent again. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin."

“Wow, very noble,” she says deadpan.

Solas quirks his eyebrow and answers, “Merely sensible. Although sense appears to be in short supply right now."

Mmm. Snarky. And not in the cute way. Or maybe she’s just a judgmental asshole who still hasn’t gotten past the rankass wolf pelt and bald head shiny enough to serve as an occularum.

“Cassandra,” Solas continues. “You should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I’ve seen. Your prisoner is no mage, and I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power."

Pentaghast nods. “Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly."

The two immediately set off, leaving Daar behind with Tethras, who walks up beside her and gives another little grin.

“Well … Bianca’s excited."


	2. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar literally rushes into a pack of demons to avoid accidentally making a friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> demon fighting in this chapter, so insert a generic warning for violence here 
> 
> Daar also references racism and colorism at the very end of the chapter. since Thedas doesn't have the same history of slavery our world does, their version of racism is humans being the privileged race, with elves typically treated as the lowest, but with plenty of discrimination against dwarves and the rare Qunari. due to some of the comments Vivienne receives, it seems like colorism still exists in this world. at the very least, since all Qunari are grey or dark-skinned, versus the human Fereldans tending to be more light-skinned, Daar has experienced nasty comments herself for being a dark-skinned Qunari

"More demons ahead!"

Adaar focuses on the green strings spreading from her left hand and can almost pick out which ones connect to the demons at the end of the narrow path. She scents them on the air as the path curves around the mountain face. Brimstone and sulfur and strawberries. She's never heard of anyone else smelling strawberries around demons, but then again, she's never met anyone else who hates the little red fuckers as much as her.

The rock face to their left slopes down and falls away to reveal another group of demons milling around on a frozen lake, and Daar's own party halts for a moment to study them.

"Varric, take the slope up there," she tells him. "Solas, you—"

Pentaghast clears her throat. Daar suddenly remembers the other alpha is technically in charge here while she is technically a prisoner who can't give orders to anyone.

Technically.

"Sorry," she says with a shrug. "Habit."

Pentaghast eyes her for another moment before issuing her own orders. "Solas, stay behind us and keep a barrier up. Adaar, I expect you to fight with me this time. Varric ... shoot from the slope."

Daar nods when the Seeker mentions her and kindly doesn't mention that was basically what she just already said. Tethras apparently decides that if she isn't going to play poke the grumpy human, he will.

"Glad you brought me now, Seeker?" he asks cheekily.

Disgusted noise. Daar makes eye contact with him over Pentaghast's shoulder and they share a grin. Good tag team effort.

"If I may ask," Solas speaks up. "How exactly do you presume for her to fight alongside you? She has no weapon, her hands are shackled, and further, as I have stated, the mark she bears is draining her life energy. I am no mighty alpha warrior, but I believe I know enough of battle to suggest perhaps Adaar should stay back as well, so that we don't immediately lose our one chance of sealing the Breach upon her death."

Pentaghast hesitates, shooting a guilty look at Daar. "That is ..."

"Whoa." Daar lifts her hands as if to ward off the look. "I feel like some level of caring is about to happen here, and I'd like to shut that down immediately."

Pentaghast crosses her arms. "Suspicious as I may be, your life is still a life that holds—"

Adaar turns and runs down the path before anyone can stop her, skidding onto the frozen lake. Straight into the gathering of three shades and two wraiths, who stare at her for a moment like they can't believe she just did that either. Daar grins at them.

Demons. Much less scary than genuine emotional connections.

She can hear shouting behind her—including a good litany of Nevarran curses—and then the three shades all converge on her. Daar slams the metal bar of her shackles up into the nearest demon's jaw, snapping its head back, then whirls to bash the end of the bar into the temple of the demon to her right.

Which leaves her partially turned away from the third shade, but Daar didn't rush into this fight expecting to come out unscathed. All that's left to do is throw herself backwards at the demon to stop its momentum before it can really gouge into her back.

To Daar's surprise, she doesn't feel claws rending into her flesh, just the solid impact as her back hits the demon's chest, her heavier weight taking them both down onto the ice. She brings her head forward until her chin touches her chest, then throws it back to stab her good horn into the demon body beneath her. Claws scrabble at her sides but scrape off of hazy air.

Solas must have gotten a barrier up around her after all.

Pentaghast arrives to the fight just in time to clash with the first demon that’s back up again, but the second demon is nearly on its feet too. Daar gets one more horn-jab into the shade beneath her, then throws her entire body up and forward, jumping to her feet with no arms needed, just sheer core muscles at work in a move that would have been spectacularly impressive if her boots didn’t slide on the ice upon making contact.

Daar slips and goes back down, but she at least manages to fall on the second demon and take it with her before it can jump on the Seeker’s back. She lands on top of its chest and can actually feel its lungs expand beneath her as it draws breath for a piercing shriek.

So she does the only reasonable thing and bites down on its throat, clenching teeth hard against muscle and tendons.

Liquid death fills her mouth like she’s actually tasting the essence of despair and the shade flails beneath her, but Daar just pins it down with her own claws and shakes her head with her teeth clamped down hard until she rips out the chunk of flesh.

When she pushes back to her feet, Solas and Tethras have already finished off the wraiths from a distance, and Pentaghast stands over the body of the last demon. Daar spits out blood and flesh. Her reward for a job well done is getting the Seeker’s sword pointed in her face again.

To be fair, her claws are out, canines poking at her bottom lip too. Eyes probably flashing alpha-red.

Adaar tries to reassure them but her voice comes out as a wordless growl at first. She clears her throat and tries again. “We’re good. I’m good."

Pentaghast doesn’t lower her sword, her own warning growl rumbling across the frozen lake. Daar huffs and turns her head to the side, not quite baring her throat, but breaking eye contact.

“You’re in charge, I’m the prisoner, we’re _good_ ,” Daar repeats.

Pentaghast finally sheathes her sword with more force than necessary. “That was extremely foolish."

“I must agree with Seeker Pentaghast,” Solas says, and Daar suppresses a groan. “If you had not charged off on your own, resorting to your animal instincts would not have been necessary."

Daar slowly runs her tongue across her teeth in response, gathering up the black blood smeared across her teeth.

Solas scoffs back at her. “Very mature."

“You know,” Tethras says as rejoins them. “I think certain friends of mine would get on with you like strong liquor and juggling knives."

“Sorry, but I don’t do friends, fire, or fuh-humans,” Daar replies. Her brilliant wit only gets blank stares and she defensively adds, “What? Alliteration is hard!"

Tethras bursts into laughter while Solas heaves a disappointed sigh.

“So is dying of infection,” Pentaghast says, gesturing at Daar’s mouth.

“And life-draining mystery magic,” Daar replies. “And execution. I figure if I’m gonna be dead, I might as well rack up several at once. Make it a really impressive death."

“That is not how …” the Seeker trails off and shakes her head. “We should check for survivors."

“Sealing the Breach is far more important,” Solas disagrees.

Pentaghast stays firm. “Quickly. You and Varric take the cabin to the northeast. Adaar and I will search the northwest cabin."

Daar looks over at the cabin clearly on fire. “Yeah. No. How about I go clear out the demons up that western path?"

“What demons?"

“You can sense them?” Solas asks. “Not a particularly surprising development I suppose, although I did not expect—"

Daar snatches her hands away when he reaches for her. “The general direction, yes. So I’m just gonna go do that."

“Hold it,” Pentaghast orders. “I will accompany you. Solas, calm the flames and take the northwest cabin. You’re still on the northeast, Varric. We meet back here in ten minutes, no later."

Solas murmurs a reluctant agreement and Tethras salutes. Pentaghast ignores them both and grabs Daar’s arm as she walks by, practically dragging the larger woman along with her. Daar resists a snarky comment about not being trusted on her own only because they’re currently walking _away_ from the fire, and she doesn’t want to push her luck with that. The Seeker doesn’t bother with idle chatter either as they hike up the path in silence, which suits Daar fine.

It’s a pretty day, minus all the demons and explosions and world-ending.

Pentaghast slows when she scents the demons ahead, tightening her grip on Daar’s arm. “On _my_ count."

Daar nods. She can play nice in exchange for some guilt-free killing. Pentaghast lets go of her arm and slowly draws her sword. Only three faint strings lead up ahead. Daar holds back as Pentaghast mouths _one, two_ ...

Adaar rushes up the last bit of the path, into the little alcove where the demons have taken shelter, Pentaghast right behind her. There’s a still-burning campfire with the poor dead fucko who made it a foot away, and Daar kicks a flaming log into the demon on the other side, then turns and head butts the other shade coming at her.

It’s a quick, fun little fight. Not so much for the mage who lost it first of course, but Daar enjoys herself. At least until Pentaghast shoves her into the rock wall.

“What part of _on my count_ did you not understand?” she demands.

“I did go on your count."

“You went before!"

“I went on three."

“I hadn’t said three!"

Daar scoffs, face scrunched up in confusion. “What, so you say three and then go? That’s not on three, that’s after!"

Pentaghast slams her back against the wall one last time, then turns and stalks away to let out a wordless shout. Daar quickly bends down and scoops up the amulet laying in the dirt, less than a foot away from the mage’s outstretched hand. So close, buddy, but close only counts with horseshoes and trebuchets. She gives the corpse a quick pat down and finds a red vial of flammable liquid. That goes down the side of her right boot. She stands back up and follows when Pentaghast begins storming down the path.

"On three," the Seeker finally says. "Means I say three, and then we go."

Daar picks her steps carefully beside her down the snowy path. "All right. Glad we got that cleared up."

"I expect it to stay cleared."

"Yeah, sure. I'll wait until three before I go. Promise."

Tethras whistles to them across the lake, and Pentaghast drops the conversation in favor of hurrying to meet him. Daar lags behind under the guise of choosing her steps carefully so she doesn't slip again until the Seeker gets a good distance ahead of her. Then she unclenches her fist holding the amulet.

The bulky shape of the amulet will rub against her ankle if she slips it down in her left boot. She can't reach her inside pockets with her hands shackled like this. And amulets made for humans never have chains long enough to account for horns.

So it goes down the front of her pants.

Her tunic drops extra long down her front to cover the bulge she already has down there, and at least now she can whip out the amulet if anyone notices the bulge. She gives herself a quick readjustment to compensate for the amulet too, then picks up the pace. Solas has already rejoined them too by the time she arrives, but her mark flares up before she can speak, words turned into a gritted off growl in her throat.

"That doesn't sound good." Tethras eyes her with concern. "You all right there, sparky?"

Adaar grinds her teeth together. "Fantastic."

"This is why time is of the essence," Solas says. "As the Breach expands, the mark becomes stronger, sucking up more of her energy until it—"

"Yeah, yeah," Daar interrupts. "It's sucking me real hard. Draining me dry. You wanna watch me stick my hand down my pants to see what happens or get a move on?"

The mage's lip curls back in horror and disgust. Pentaghast merely rolls her eyes.

"Come—er.” She quickly rephrases. "Let's move."

Tethras chuckles as she whirls and stomps away, cheeks stained red from more than just the cold. Daar shoots Solas a dirty leer that he brushes off to follow after them. She drops the grin into a scowl the moment his back is turned.

She’ll bet the amulet, explosive red vial, black powder hidden in the heel of her boot—hell, even the packet of powdered caffeine in the other boot’s secret heel compartment, that he’s one of those elves who’s not racist because he’s a minority tooo, it’s just that he’s very proud of that elven heritage and could never see himself with a Qunari. It’s not you and it’s not me, and certainly not the horns or dark-skin, really not at all, it’s just that your _culture_ is so … barbaric.

And he’s the one who watched over her sleep.

Daar takes a slow breath and mentally shakes it off. They’ve still got a hell of a lot of mountain between them and the Breach, and it looks like it’s going to be a long hike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I really am trying to write Solas as fairly as possible, but my first playthrough was with an Adaar Inquisitor, and I kind of stopped listening to his opinions after he called the Qunari barbaric and acted surprised she was so ~smart~ for being one of them. regardless of my personal opinion of him, Adaar's personality clashes with his so much that I can't imagine writing them any other way than like bad anime rivals
> 
> anyway, I changed the number of chapters to ? because this has spiraled out of control. I'm also trying to write shorter chapters, to make it easier for me to actually write. I tend to write 5-10,000 word "chapters" that of course feel like they're dragging on, and it's exhausting to write that much, and I lose interest halfway through--like no shit that's hard and boring. so now I'm trying to break it up into 2-3k chapters. we'll see how that goes!
> 
> one more chapter of Adaar's POV, and then we'll get to Cullen :D


	3. A Strong First Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daar finally meets Cullen and makes a strong first impression. Not necessarily a good one, but it's certainly uh ... memorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I'm not really sure if how I'm writing Solas counts as "bashing" him, but he is kind of an insufferable asshole in this chapter. to be fair, I uhhhhh don't really think that's OOC. especially since he's assuming that he's more educated and smarter than Adaar, which he canonically does, soooooooo.
> 
> but anyway, that's my warning for it

"So ..." Tethras breaks the sour mood of the silence. " _Are_ you innocent?"

"Yep," Daar answers simply. "But I don't remember shit about what happened or how this mark got here, sooo."

The dwarf nods understandingly. "Yeah, that'll get you every time. Should have spun a story."

"That's what _you_ would have done," Pentaghast says.

"It's more believable," Tethras replies. "And less prone to premature execution."

It takes every ounce of self-control Daar possesses not to make a dick joke out of that. She can see it now—outing her own damn self because her dumbass smart mouth couldn't stay shut. She makes a valiant effort and triumphs however, and they keep going up the path until they get closer to more demons.

"When I say three, we go." Pentaghast glares among them. "One, two ..." She holds it just to be sure they're all obeying. "Three!"

Killing less than five demons is a light workout. Killing five to ten is a fun spree. Up to twenty works off lots of pent up anger, but after that twentieth demon, even slaughter gets tedious. Especially without a weapon.

"We had Qunari in Kirkwall," Tethras says after they’re done. "A whole boatload of 'em."

Daar's hands can't quite reach back far enough while shackled to pick the piece of entrails hanging off her horn. "That's where ... I wanted ... to ... goddammit!"

"Want me to get that for you?" he asks.

She sighs and kneels down. "Yeah."

"What brought you to Fereldan then?" Solas asks. "I find it quite interesting how the smallest decisions often turn out to be the guiding hand of Fate."

"Ship was cheaper."

Solas waits for more, but all he gets is the half-disgusted, half-impressed noise Tethras makes as he finally unsnags the piece of gut and peels it off her horn.

"One time I got a whole eyeball stuck on there," Daar brags. "Like a—what do you call those fancy little food spears at parties?"

"Sish kabob," Pentaghast says.

Daar rolls her eyes. "Right, Adaar is too hard to pronounce but sish kabob—sure! And Tethras, if that was a lead in to ask if I know Big Horns McNoSmile or any other Qunari you may have met ... the answer is no."

Tethras snorts. "Ha. No, I was just going to say the ones I knew were the typical cheerless sort. And they tried to take over the city and kill everyone. But you seem to be a fun-loving gal, so I'm guessing you don't follow the Qun?"

"What gave it away?"

"Well you haven't recited a single quote from the prophet Koslun yet."

Daar groans. "Don't, he's such an asshole."

"See there," Tethras says. "Unless you're just trying to stay on the Seeker's good side—" He has to pause as she and Solas both chuckle, and even Pentaghast gives a snort. "I'd say that's pretty telling."

“Don’t worry, I won’t try to convert you," Daar says.

"So are you Vashoth or Tal-Vashoth then?" Solas asks.

The mark on Daar's hand does its best impression of fireworks before she can reply, and Pentaghast finishes wiping down her sword.

"Rest time over," she announces. "We need to keep moving."

Solas slings his staff across his back and joins their march. “Yes, the pulses are coming much faster now. The increased rate isn't perfectly exponential, with each pulse occurring half the time it took the one before it, but I believe—"

Daar steps away to keep him from grabbing her hand again. "Stop trying to hold my hand or buy me dinner first."

Solas gives an exasperated sigh. "I know your culture encourages a superstitious fear of magic, but I assure you, I mean you no harm."

Daar keeps marching without reply.

"Or do you object to an omega who is more learned than you?"

That gets her to stop.

"You don't know the extent of my education," Adaar snaps at him. "And in my culture that you know so much about, you as an omega _male_ would still be held in infinitely higher regard than any female, especially an alpha female—which should not exist, and is an abomination against the gods, a tragic disappointment, and a waste of good breeding."

Pentaghast steps between them. "Stand down."

Daar takes the first step back, although she also has to get the last word. "I'm not going to sit still and let you poke me like an interesting little experiment."

"I am attempting to help you," Solas retorts, unwilling to let the last word distinction go to her. "Should I have bowed first and begged, please, oh alpha, let the only person here with any experience in such matters continue to prevent the mark from killing you?"

Tethras steps up too. "Maybe we should just—"

"Yeah," Daar shouts back. "Actually, you could have said please, you egg-looking asshole! Or at least start asking before grabbing at me, because you know damn well you'd be snarking bloody murder about alpha brutality if I touched you without permission."

"Scream, the phrase is 'scream bloody murder'."

"You think you're too dignified to scream!"

"And you do not think—"

"Enough!" Pentaghast shoves Daar further back and points a warning finger at Solas. "Be quiet, both of you. No talking to each other, no touching, just keep your eyes straight ahead and _march_."

Daar huffs out air, then turns and stalks away. There's a short whispered conversation between Pentaghast and Tethras before footsteps follow her up the path. It's Tethras that comes up to walk beside her, while Pentaghast walks behind with Solas. She can feel the dwarf shooting glances over at her, but she follows the Seeker's order to keep her eyes straight ahead. For all his witty quips, Tethras is also smart enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, and they walk in silence.

At least until they get far enough to hear more fighting and demon-shrieks.

"When I said we were ass deep in 'em, I meant my ass," Tethras says. "Now I think we're up to yours."

Daar doesn't waste her breath laughing, but her scowl does crack into a grin as they both start running toward the battle. This outpost is at least partially intact, but there's a rift floating right in the center with demons pouring out.

"They just keep coming!" a guard shouts in a panic.

Solas runs up behind her. "We must seal it! Quickly!"

Daar throws her hands up and the mark pulses, but a line of magic doesn't lightning out to connect with the rift like the last time. She searches for the string that should connect them, but there are too many glowing green lines, screams feeling the air, her golden string leading—

A blast of energy from a wraith hits her chest, causing Daar to stumble sideways in the snow. Solas catches her, but only just, her heavier weight threatening to bring them both down until she finds her feet again. She tries to shake off the pain of the blow, tries to see past the overwhelming input of green and ice and fire, tries to—

“Focus!” Solas shouts. “You must close the rift before another wave comes through and we are overrun!"

Daar takes a deep breath, but that only draws in a new scent, so subtle she can’t quite tell if it’s real. There’s literally tons of snow on this Fade-blasted mountain, but the scent still reminds her of a crisp clean snowfall in the early morning, before any footprints have been made and it feels like you’re the only person in the whole—

“Any time now, Sparky!” Tethras yells.

She raises her hands again, and the next blast from the wraith hits the barrier Solas has around her. Magic finally crackles between her hand and the rift, but Daar’s only half-watching, scanning the area to get a head count of who’s here. But she can’t concentrate as magic sparks around the demons too while they shudder and disintegrate into the rift.

Then the whole thing explodes and curls in on itself before disappearing into the air.

“I suppose this is a skill that will take time to master. Well done, nevertheless."

Daar just grunts in response, unable to even rub her eyes with the stupid metal bar binding her wrists in the way. All she knows is the mage’s scent is suddenly too much, clogging in the back of her throat and drowning out the softer scent. She staggers away to get some space, but she doesn’t even get ten feet before she has to draw up short or risk trampling one of the little human guards running around.

“My apologies."

She blinks down at the human man in front of her, hair and eyes and string all glowing gold. The scent is almost clear now, but still frustratingly elusive. Beta? No, one of those artificial scents, herbal but not natural. Maybe an omega?

Confused, exhausted, and with her instincts screaming to push the smaller human against the crumbling wall and nuzzle through his curly blond hair until she can smell him properly, Adaar opens her mouth and blurts out her first words to her mate.

“What the fuck are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is from Cullen's POV! get inside the mind of the Stressed Out blushy boy!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *banging my spoon against a pot* fresh blushy boy! Stressed Out blushy boy, direct from Kirkwall! get 'im while he's hot!!
> 
> or, Cullen finally meets Adaar and it's a small Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no violence or anything else that I think needs a warning in this chapter. just some good old fashioned Awkwardness

Cullen looks up—and _up_ —at the Qunari woman in shackles with blood smeared down her chin who practically drips alpha pheromones and immediately knows she’s his mate.

It’s not an earth-shaking revelation. Time doesn't slow down and no great voice from the sky booms. He’s just suddenly aware of the fact, a quiet murmur in the back of his head, _oh so this is it_.

“My apologies,” he says automatically.

He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. She’s the one who nearly ran into him, but it just sort of came out, and now those are his First Words to her and—Maker’s breath, she’s in chains. That makes her the prisoner, their only suspect for who destroyed the Conclave and started all of this.

He gapes up at her for another moment after that, and no, time hasn’t slowed, so they stand there like that in complete silence as the others start to sense something awkward happening and turn to look at them.

Then his mate, the presumed love of his life, opens her mouth and asks in disturbed confusion—

“What the fuck are you?"

His face burns as he grits his teeth. It’s been almost a week now since his last suppressant, hidden in his regular lyrium dosage. He’s probably sweated through the fake beta scent Leliana slipped him, so he can understand her confusion, but.

 _Still_.

“Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the various forces left alive."

He hasn’t yet been able to say the words _I am an omega_ out loud, so his name and rank—unofficial rank, his mind reminds him—will just have to do. His mate takes a step back so she isn’t towering over him and nods. Perhaps she thinks he’s a beta, because she doesn’t make any effort to posture or assert her dominance like most alphas do when they meet an omega.

“Adaar."

He blinks at her. She’s a what?

“My surname,” she provides with a sardonic grin at his obvious confusion. “Haven’t chosen a symbolic new first name yet to represent my, ah … freedom."

Her grin twists even more ironically as she lifts her hands and shakes them, chain rattling from the metal bar shackling her wrists. Cassandra strides over to his side to explain.

“Adaar claims she is innocent and has no recollection of what happened,” his friend tells him. “And I admit, she has been …” Cassandra looks over at the Qunari woman, and Adaar’s grin widens. “… helpful—if entirely undisciplined."

“Aw, that’s the nicest word she’s used for me yet,” Adaar replies.

“Now, Seeker.” Varric joins their group. “I thought we had something special."

She leans closer to Cullen. “Do you think Silence would work on non-mages if you have enough faith?"

Varric clutches a hand to his chest. “No, but you wound me deeply."

“Adaar,” Cullen says before their we’re-arguing-not-flirting match can get too far. “You don’t remember anything that happened?

He hopes his face stays impassive while he sends up a prayer for it to be true, that she’s a victim too and not involved at all. Mate or not, he will stand by and see her executed if she is guilty of killing all those people—and starting the end of the world.

“Let’s get more comfortable,” she replies. “You can call me Daar and take off these shackles. I’ll call you Commander—or Rutherford, if this goes really well—and tell you what I know."

Cassandra whirls to jab a finger at her. “You said you didn’t remember anything!"

“Perhaps my memory has been ran,” Adaar replies. “… raced?"

“Jogged,” Varric helpfully supplies.

“You are changing your story,” Cassandra accuses.

“Making additions now that circumstances have changed and new details have become relevant."

"What," Cullen cuts in before more shouting erupts. "new details?"

"I'm outside," Adaar says simply.

He crosses his arms. "And how is that relevant?"

"Pentaghast isn't going to like any of these details," she tells him. "And if I'm going to be executed by an emotionally compromised human, I'd prefer to die in the sunshine."

"You're not going to die," Cullen says before he can stop himself. "Just tell us what happened."

Adaar lifts her shackled wrists again, but he keeps his arms crossed and stands firm.

"Details first," he says.

Instead of being angry at not getting her way, she just grins back at him like they're in a game of chess and he just countered her move.

"I took the security job for my crew to make contacts," she begins explaining. "Just meet some rich fuck-ohs, maybe get a patron, then fuck on off into the sunset on the day of the Great Big Squabble."

"The Conclave," Cassanda says with a glare.

"I literally could not care any less than I already don't about how the humans are killing each other this time," Adaar replies. "So we were going to leave before the actual summit, but Templars started locking down."

"Templars?" Cullen asks.

Adaar nods. "On every door. First they said we had to be searched to make sure we weren't smuggling anything out. Like we were gonna steal the fucking—all right, Kaariss might have stolen some of the silverware. Then it was everyone had to stay inside because of the weather for our own safety."

Another male omega walks over, elven and obviously an apostate. Cullen shoots a look to Cassandra, but she shakes her head. The guards who survived have started to migrate closer too, everyone listening to Adaar's story.

"Which sounded like bullshit to me, so I told my crew to look for a way out. I saw some guards going down a staircase and followed them, because if shit was going down, they were probably evacuating the important people out through escape tunnels."

Cassandra pulls him aside and whispers, "There were tunnels below the temple. Old dungeons and caves. Unexplored, from the dragon that was worshiped. If there was a threat, that is where the Knights Divine would have taken the Most Holy."

Cullen nods and turns back. "What happened next?"

Adaar shrugs, hands lifting in supplication. "I don't know. That's where the memory ends. Not like I was knocked out or fell or saw something traumatic. Just ... stops."

"And what is it that I won't like?" Cassandra asks. "Do not hold back information a second time."

"The Divine was with me in the fade."

Cullen immediately lunges for Cassandra, who is already jumping at Adaar. He pulls her back, even as her snarled growls demand that he submit. Years of discipline—and dealing with arrogant alphas who thought they could order around any beta they saw—allows him to clamp down on that instinct and stand between the two women.

"You left her!" Cassandra shouts, pushing back against him.

"Stop." He can't use an alpha command to force her to obey, but he keeps his gaze locked on her crimson-bled eyes. "Control yourself, Seeker."

Cassandra grits her teeth, canines already grown long enough to extend beneath her upper lip. No one moves. Her growl slowly tapers off and the red drains from her eyes.

Adaar takes a breath, opens her mouth, but hesitates on her words. She presses her lips back together and looks away.

"You left her," Cassandra repeats, with more sorrow but no less accusation.

"She was strong," Adaar finally says. "The ... it wasn't spiders chasing me. In the Fade. Just easier to understand."

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise at the admission of another lie. “So then what was it? Ponies?"

Adaar glares back at her. “There was an enormous explosion. Lots of people died. Hundreds of them. And where do people go when they die?"

Everyone is silent as the implication of that sets in. Cullen moves closer to his friend and touches her arm. Finding out he’s secretly been a very repressed omega all along a mere week ago hasn’t awoken any dormant nurturing instincts in him, so the small gesture is all he has to offer.

“Hundreds of people,” Adaar repeats. “Suddenly dead and confused, not understanding what had happening—and the ones who knew they were dead and didn't care because there was a way out and they only needed to do one last thing, see that person one more time, screaming names, so many names—"

Cullen speaks up before she can get lost in the memory. “Adaar."

She focuses back on him for a second, then continues. “Easier to just say spiders. Tethras, if you’re gonna turn this into a book too, say it was only spiders."

“So you have heard of me then,” Varric says with hollow-humor.

“Just want you to get it right,” Adaar replies. “The Divine calmed them, held them back. She resisted the temptation herself. She was strong."

Cassandra walks away, a quick mutter of _needing a minute_ , and then she’s barking at the guards to get back to their posts. As far as gossip goes however, the damage has already been done. Cullen has no doubt every soul in Haven will know this story by morning—if they survive to then.

“She was the woman behind you then,” he asks.

Adaar sighs, tilting her head back and grimacing at the sky. “No."

“Who was she, if not the Divine?"

“… Andraste."

“The Divinely Chosen Heroine,” Varric says. “Now that’s good. Definitely going in the book."

The elven mage shakes his head. “So you are taking the dwarf’s advice then? Quite a story to spin."

“Fuck off,” Adaar snaps. “If I were lying, I’d make it a hell of a lot better than _I left the Divine behind in the Fade and then personally met Andraste herself_."

Cullen takes a slow inhale. It’s hard to concentrate on her scent because he has the most ridiculous impulse to rub himself against her body like a cat if he thinks about it too long. She smells like a fireplace, warm and woodsy and—maybe a hint of chestnut? Or is that just an associated memory, roasted chestnuts over—

Concentrate. He breaths out and starts over. She scowls off to the side, but her gaze doesn’t flicker down and her shoulders stay straight rather than hunched up. No spike of sweat in her scent. No outward signs of guilt, just frustration at not being believed.

“How do you know it was Andraste?” he asks.

Adaar meets his eyes again, regarding him for a moment before she speaks. “How do you recognize your mother? It wasn’t … I didn’t have some sort of great big shocking moment. Feel free to write in a grand revelation if it sounds better, Tethras, but I dunno. I just looked at her and knew. _Oh, this is Andraste_."

Cullen is struck silent by the similarity to his own experience. Then he’s kept quiet by the realization that his mate had that moment of recognition for Andraste, not him. Which—Maker, he could never complain about that. Clearly Andraste and whatever mission she’s given Adaar is more important than him. It’s rare for people to have premonitions about their mates anyway, enough to be regarded mostly as legends and old wives tales. Not something he’d ever particularly bothered to believe in himself until fifteen minutes ago.

The elven mage speaks up again in the silence. “I did not realize recognizing gods was so easy."

“Andraste is the wife of the Maker, made divine through His will,” Cullen recovers himself somewhat to say. “And I find it difficult to believe Adaar survived the blast, the Fade, and the mark on her hand, without some sort of divine intervention."

“I said you could call me Daar, Commander.” She shoots him a smile, then holds out her hands. “And I believe you said something about these shackles."

“Yes. Seeker!"

Cassandra returns, calmer now. “Did you learn anything new?"

“A—ah, _Daar_ , says Andraste came to her in the Fade."

“So that part of her story has not changed then."

Cullen ignores the small dig. “Do you have the key to—"

“Hey, Curly.” Varric clears his throat and jerks his head over at Daar.

Cullen follows his gaze to see she has the metal bar wedged between two stones in the nearby crumbled wall. With the bar wedged tight, she tucks her thumbs and twists her wrists, scraping her hands as she pulls them free.

“You could do that this entire time?” Cassandra asks, mad all over again.

“Yeah.”

Daar shrugs and yanks the metal bar back out, then wraps the chain around her arm. She grips each in one hand and pulls, biceps straining until the hastily welded link connecting the two suddenly snaps.

“You mind if I keep this chain?” she asks him.

Cullen swallows. Clears his throat. “Um."

“ _Why_ did you not do that earlier?” the mage asks her. “I have maintained a near constant barrier around you, and you could have defended yourself at any time."

Daar rolls her eyes. “Pentaghast would have gotten better shackles, and then where would I be if I really needed out of them?"

“You did not—“ The mage makes air quotes with his fingers. “ _Really need out of them_ when you charged into a gathering of five demons, slipped on the ice, and saw red in a panic?"

“All right, it was way more impressive than that,” Daar quickly defends. “And I did not panic. I deliberately threw myself backwards into that demon so it couldn’t gouge my back, stabbed it in the face with my horn, then leapt to my feet and rushed the other—"

“Fell on,” the mage interjects.

“THE OTHER DEMON,” Daar speaks over him. “And ripped its throat out with my teeth. Extremely badass, very sexy."

“I suppose you did not die, despite your recklessness,” Cassandra states.

“Like I said, impressive, considering my recklessness.” Daar winks at her.

Cassandra turns to Cullen without acknowledging her. “The guards say Leliana made it here. We should join her and discuss our next move."

“Yes.” The mage steps forward. “It is essential that Adaar is taken to the Breach, preferably without any more pointless dithering. As I have stated several times before, the mark is feeding from her life energy and it will kill—"

“It’s killing you?” Cullen interrupts, snapping his head over to look at his mate.

“Doesn’t life kill us all eventually?” she says grandly.

He gapes at her with a furrowed brow, unsure of how to reply to that. Unfortunately, he’s saved from a response when her left hand glows a brighter green a split second before sparking magical energy. It happens in a flash, but Cullen’s certain he sees the veins in her arms turn black, dark enough to stand out against her taupe skin. Daar cradles her arm to her chest, fist clenched and teeth gritted on a growl of pain.

And there’s nothing he can do to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will also be from Cullen's POV and explain more about why he thought he was a beta even though he's really an omega. plus you get to meet Chancellor Roderick, and we all LOVE him! right?
> 
> ... right?


	5. Introducing the Alpha Thugs!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the party meets everyone's favorite NPC, Chancellor Roderick, who immediately blabs Cullen's secret. what a guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty sure there's nothing to warn for in this chapter. not even any violence! although, I suppose technically Chancellor Roderick does out Cullen as an omega, so if any form of people being outed makes you uncomfortable, that happens in about the middle of the chapter

Cullen whirls on the elven mage. “Who are you and how do you know about this mark?"

“Solas, and he sleep-walks in the Fade,” Cassandra answers before he can reply. “Or something along those lines. He is the one who kept her alive when we first discovered her."

“Yes, and if the Breach is not closed, that will have been in vain,” Solas says. “You saw how she was able to close the rift here. I theorize that if we can take her to the Breach, she may be able to close it as well, thus stabilizing the mark."

“Commander,” Adaar gasps out.

Cullen is halfway across the snow before he even realizes it, and then it’s too late to play impartial, so he keeps going until he’s close enough to … awkwardly lay a hand on her back. Why didn’t he remember he’s shit at comforting people?

“Are you all right?” he asks, because that seems to be a fairly standard question.

“This is.” She straightens back up with a grimace. “A really nice length of chain. Can I keep it?"

“What?"

“The link on the metal bar was the only shoddy part."

Cullen stares up at her. “Are you delirious?"

Daar huffs out a breathless laugh. He sees blood trickle down her wrist from how hard she’s digging her nails into her fist. “I’m military-fine."

Varric eyes her dubiously. “You sure about that, Sparky?"

“I can stand vaguely upright and swing a sword,” she says, then reconsiders and adds. “With my right hand, y’know. So. Fine enough to get drafted."

Cullen wants to argue against that, but those are the exact standards they’re currently using to recruit anyone left alive.

“Follow me,” he orders instead.

Cassandra shouts for the guards to open the gate, and Daar walks with him across the courtyard. She must still think he’s a beta, if she’s this willing to obey his commands. And even when he thought he was a beta, pushback from alphas who thought he should be a squire rather than a knight happened all the time.

Maybe she’s a very progressive Alpha. One of the Qunari not raised under the Qun. Shit, what was that called? There’s the not-raised-Qun word and the left-the-Qun word, and he can never keep them straight.

“—prepare the soldiers.”

“We will do no such thing!"

Cullen barely suppresses a groan as they walk onto the bridge. He’d rather walk straight into a rift than get into another pointless argument with Leliana or Chancellor Roderick. Cassandra gives him a knowing look and steps forward.

“I will join Leliana."

He nods. “I’ll keep watch over the …"

Prisoners. But that word dies in his throat as he looks over the three of them. Each has willingly volunteered to help and proven themselves capable.

Varric grins. “Panty-dropping heartthrobs."

“And Solas,” Daar quips.

Cassandra just walks away from that without comment, and Cullen rethinks how much he hates diplomatic negotiations when Solas launches into a reminder of his Fade expertise. Would he rather listen to a bureaucrat with no military experience lecture him on what _his_ troops should be doing or listen to an apostate mage detail how he’s seen the rise and fall of every civilization within the Fade?

“You think I could open a rift?” Adaar leans closer to murmur to him. “And then we just … jump."

Solas heaves an exasperated sigh. “You wish to go into the Fade to avoid being educated on it? Do you not realize I am the one person here most equipped to follow you?"

She leans back to peer down at the valley. “OK. So how high is this bridge?"

Cullen snorts, but when he takes a breath to reply, he gets another whiff of her scent, stronger now that she’s standing so close. And the mage’s too? He fights back an irrational surge of jealousy. Annoying or not, Solas is the person responsible for keeping her alive. Of course his scent still lingers on her after she spent hours in his care.

“Fine. I will be—“ Solas stops himself with a shake of his head. “You won’t understand what I will be doing, so suffice it to say, I will be over there. Call it …” He rolls his eyes and scoffs in the back of his throat. “Meditating."

He stalks over to the other rail of the bridge, sitting cross-legged on the stone to overlook the valley.

Daar shares a grin down at Varric. “So we’re calling it _meditating_ now?”

“I bet he _meditates_ himself every night,” the dwarf replies with a wink.

“Yes, Cassandra!” Chancellor Roderick’s voice carries down the bridge before they can say anything else. “The Conclave, the Most Holy—haven’t you done enough?"

Cullen grips the pommel of his sword to concentrate on not storming over to defend her. The only thing that will accomplish is add another voice to the screaming match.

“Why aren’t you over there?” Daar asks.

He takes a deep breath and says the words as much to remind himself as to answer her. “I am a soldier, not a diplomat."

Varric’s eyebrows shoot up. “But the Seeker is?"

“She’s …” Cullen stops and winces. “Well. The Right Hand of the Divine, at least. Do you need anything for the pain, Adaar?"

She just looks at Varric instead. “He still won’t call me Daar."

“Curly isn't really a nicknames sort of guy,” Varric tells her. “Clenched too tight. And Chuckles over there said pain-relief potions might fuck with the mark in a bad way. Paraphrased, of course."

Daar turns back to him. “I’m military-fine, and that’s all that matters right now."

Cullen wants to argue. She’s his mate and she’s in pain, and how can he do anything except everything he possibly can to stop it? But she’s standing straight, the near-constant grin she’s worn this whole time replaced with a look that’s almost serious. He reminds himself that she’s a soldier just like him, and it’s not as if he’s anything better than her definition of “military-fine” with the lyrium withdrawal kicking in.

“Enough!” Chancellor Roderick shouts next. “I will not have it."

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Cullen mutters under his breath.

Varric grins. “Now that’s the spirit!"

Both of them follow after him as he marches down the bridge to see what nonsense the esteemed chancellor is pushing for this time. Cassandra makes eye contact with him and curls her upper lip to show how negotiations have gone so far, and Leliana gives him a respectful nod of her head before stepping forward.

“Chancellor Roderick, this is—"

The Chancellor actually dares to cut her off. “I _know_ who this is. And as Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution."

“Absolutely not,” Cullen snaps.

“Order us?” Cassandra asks at the same time with an outraged scoff. “You are a glorified clerk!"

“And you are an Alpha thug,” Chancellor Roderick retorts. “But an Alpha thug who supposedly serves the—"

“New band name,” Adaar suddenly says.

Everyone turns to look at her, and she makes no effort to slouch, forcing the Chancellor to look up.

“Introduciiiing the Alphaaaaaaaa Thuuuuuuugs,” she fake-announces. “What’d’ya think, Tethras? Should the people just chant _Thugs! Thugs!_ while they bang on the tables or go for the full _Al-pha Thugs! Al-ph—_ "

“Silence!” Chancellor Roderick demands. “What ridiculous—why isn’t the prisoner restrained? She should be in chains!"

“Adaar,” Cullen stresses her name. “Earned the removal of her restraints by assisting Seeker Pentaghast in clearing the path to Haven of demons and successfully sealing the rift that was just outside our gate."

“And as you well know,” Leliana speaks up again, voice laced with threat. “We all faithfully serve the Most Holy."

Chancellor Roderick throws up his hands. “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter."

“We must prepare the troops,” Cassandra counters.

The Chancellor does a good job of glaring her down for a beta. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless."

“You are a bureaucrat and know nothing of our position,” Cullen says, unable to stay silent any longer. “We have enough forces left to make one last attempt to—"

“Attempt to _what_? Retreat is our only option."

Cullen grits his teeth at the interruption, forcing his voice to stay at a reasonable speaking volume. “Adaar must be brought to the Temple so that she can seal the Breach before it spreads any further. I have enough men to lead a charge up the mountain."

“You won’t survive long enough to get to the Temple, even with all of your soldiers,” Chancellor Roderick says.

Cassandra crosses her arms. “We must at least make an attempt. If we retreat now, the Breach may grow beyond ever being controlled."

“You will lead this charge?” Chancellor Roderick asks doubtfully.

“I will personally escort Adaar,” Cassandra says. “Commander Rutherford will lead."

The Chancellor turns away at that, then comes back around with his head tilted up to the heavens. “Oh, brilliant. Maker above.”

“Rutherford is the highest-ranking Templar to sur—"

“Ex-Templar,” Chancellor Roderick reminds them all. “Dishonorably discharged, and suffering lyrium withdrawal."

“I am standing upright and I can swing a sword,” Cullen says through gritted teeth, echoing Daar's definition of military-fine. “That is all the Chantry has ever cared about before, and I see no reason for it to change now."

He looks at Cullen with disdain. “I highly doubt the rag-tag group of survivors you call forces will follow the command of an _omega_."

A beat of shocked silence passes. Cullen knows the people around them on the bridge have been listening, couldn’t help but hear the shouting. And now that’s out. The only gossipers worse than housewives are soldiers, and every one of them still left alive enough to speak and listen will know his true biology in approximately twenty minutes.

“Question,” Adaar speaks up again. “Left and Right Hand, obviously important. Commander Rutherford has the army. But who the fuck is this guy? Who told him he gets an opinion on anything?"

“I am the _Grand Chancellor_ of the—"

She gives Cullen an incredulous look and talks right over him. “He doesn’t even understand rhetorical questions."

Cullen’s lips twitch up in a small grin back at her. She used his title, even though her first question to him has finally been answered. He’s an omega—a fact he only learned himself a week ago, after years of ...

Well. His scent had always been subtle and he came from a family of late bloomers. And even without the benefit of noble-born training, the teaching he'd begged off traveling Templars passing through Honnleaf and his own natural skill had been enough for everyone to assume he'd present as an alpha when puberty finally hit.

The lyrium had started it. Something about that first rush had been just what his hormones needed to finally kick off and--

They said he had a bad reaction. That it happened sometimes, that he had some sort of vitamin deficiency and, well. He can't even remember all the excuses now, but the end result was that something had always been added to his dosages of lyrium after that, and he'd been too stupid to figure out it was a suppressant.

His Revered Mother acted embarrassed enough to find out her star recruit, her handpicked diamond in the rough, turned out to be a "beta." If anyone knew the truth, that he'd really been an omega all along? When she had such ambitious plans to become a Grand Cleric?

That sort of scandal couldn't be allowed to come out, and Cullen had thought—perversely hoped—the possible backlash and potential of blackmailing him might prompt the Chantry to keep his secret a little longer.

“Isn’t there anyone else in charge we can speak to?” Adaar asks, breaking him from his thoughts.

“You _killed_ everyone in charge!” Chancellor Roderick shouts at her.

Daar barks out a laugh, then quickly tries to smother it into a cough. “Sorry. I’m not—that really is very tragic, and I am not responsible for what happened. It’s just … wow, we are fucked."

"There is a safer route." Leliana points to the smaller mountain range to the east of the Temple. "I can take Adaar through the mountains while Rutherford's forces charge as a distraction."

Daar shakes her head. "Not happening."

"And why not?" Leliana asks.

"It's a bad plan."

"... excuse me?"

"I hate to agree with the prisoner," Chancellor Roderick begins. "but—"

“Then hush and don't," Daar says. "I should be on the mountain team with Commander Rutherford."

The Chancellor just gives up and stalks away at that point. No one bothers to stop him from leaving.

"Traveling with a small group through hidden paths is least likely to attract the attention of demons," Leliana states. "And therefore, the least likely option to result in your death, and then all of ours when the Breach is unable to be sealed."

"Except my mark does attract demons." Adaar gives a little wave with her left hand, magical sparks near-constant now. "I'm also a six-six Qunari with dark skin—no blending in with the snow for me—and the last time I snuck into a place, I just killed everyone as soon as they saw me. That's Qunari-stealth."

"It's sneaked."

Solas suddenly steps up next to her, resulting in everyone jumping and reaching for their weapons. Daar's claws pop before she realizes it's him and lets out a strong exhale.

"Maker's sour balls breath!"

"The word is sneaked," Solas continues without regard to her swearing. "Snuck is commonly used, but erroneous."

"Don't ..." Daar pauses to suck in a sharp inhale. " _Ever_."

She stops, apparently too angry to finish the thought. Solas offers no apology.

Daar exhales slowly, then turns back to Cullen and Leliana. "Our priorities are to get both me and Solas—as the only knowledgeable Fade-walker—to the Temple. I'll charge with Commander Rutherford, while you escort Solas through the mountains."

Leliana arches an eyebrow. "Do you just want him in a different group than you?"

"Solas and I should be split up so that if one team fails, at least one of us will make it to the Breach. His magic is both silent and ranged, thus more suited to a stealth mission. Your team will be cut off from contact in the mountains and may require a mage's healing abilities. You should have at least one mage regardless to conjure fire and signal flares in case you become trapped. Solas demonstrably excels at stealth and—"

"So, yes," Varric cuts in.

"Oh fuck yes," Daar agrees.

Cullen fights down a smirk while Solas rolls his eyes.

"I find it interesting you volunteer for such a suicidal plan," Solas says. "You have made it known this problem is not yours to solve, after all."

Daar frowns. "I may be Tal-Vashoth, but I do still have _some_ morals left. I'm not going to tell these soldiers to die charging up a mountain full of demons as a distraction while I stroll through a safer route. You can't make an example if you're not willing to lead by it."

"That is not how—"

"Commander Rutherford! Are we leaving immediately?" she asks.

Cullen nods, his smile breaking free. "Yes, we are."

"Leliana, bring everyone in the valley," Cassandra says. "Everyone. Varric, Solas, go with her. On your command, Rutherford."

She and Adaar both look to him, two of arguably the strongest alphas in the camp, ready and willing to follow his orders. Cullen feels a spark of hope that despite the Chantry's threats, his career--which basically amounts to his entire life--isn't quite over yet.

"Very well," he says. "Follow me."

xxx

Cullen gazes out over the assembled might of his forces and agrees with Adaar’s earlier witticism: they are so fucked.

“Many are from Haven itself,” Cassandra murmurs to him. “The rest … some of us who were delayed by the weather survived the initial wave of demons, but."

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. He can see how few Templars remain, and the mercenary crews all split hours ago when it become clear no one was officially in charge to pay them. Now his “forces” consist of mostly terrified villagers, a score of soldiers who were mostly sentry guards not important enough to be at the Conclave, and perhaps a dozen actually well-trained military soldiers who may be capable of doing something other than immediately dying.

But all that matters is getting Adaar up to the Temple. She’s the only one who needs to survive this.

"Are there any more dwarves here?" she asks, returning with a long sword in her right hand from the weapon cache. "'Cause I'd rather strap a dwarf to each of my forearms, then box the demons with them and their finely crafted dwarven blades than clean my teeth with whatever the fuck this is."

"Stop," Cassandra snaps. "The weapons of the dead are all we have. You could _try_ to be respectful."

Daar stops twirling the three-pound blade like it's a painted theater prop. "I thought humans didn't care about their weapons."

"Do you have one?" Cullen asks, then amends, "A personal—did you have one that you lost?"

"Nice that it finally occurred to someone I might be upset about losing my soul," Daar says. "But no, that's not an issue for me. But size—and this isn't a metaphor—is pretty important, because this is a long-ish dagger, not a sword."

"A sword is better than being unarmed, and that is what we have," he says. "Can you hold a shield?"

"I never liked them," she says lightly.

"But can you hold one?"

Her left hand clenches suddenly, green light leaking from her fist. Daar's ever-present little smirk tightens, a shared look between two soldiers.

"Military-fine doesn't say shit about a shield." Daar sheathes her sword, quickly changing the subject. "But thanks for the sword. Dibs on anything we find that's bigger though—and yes, Seeker, that includes off a corpse. They're not gonna need it."

Another soldier jogs up before Cassandra can make her opinions on looting the dead known, a teenage boy that Cullen recognizes. He is—rather, _was_ —a squire for Templar Berris, but he'd been sent back from the Conclave down to Haven to fetch Berris's lucky rabbit's foot forgotten in the tavern.

The luck of the rabbit's foot did work, but only for the squire.

"The troops are ready," he says, then hesitates, eyes darting between Cullen, Cassandra, and Adaar and uncertain of who to address. "Uh ... sir."

Cullen takes the victory with a grain of salt, the boy likely just settling on the only familiar face. "Good. Dismissed."

The squire salutes and jogs back down to the gathering of everyone who can still manage to stand and hold a weapon. Military-fine, just as Daar said.

So. Fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up next, Daar and Cullen fight their way up the mountain bc battle couples are my JAM, and Cullen attempts to care about her, to which Daar decides she'll just have to marry him off so he stops Doing That. she comes up with the best plans ...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daar and Cullen fight their way up to the top of the mountain, bonding through battle! what could be a better first date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning because Daar is super briefly misgendered toward the end of this chapter, but it's by a dumb idiot who also mistakes Cassandra for a man right after, because he's assuming someone who's an alpha is also male. and even this doofus immediately corrects himself when he realizes he's wrong and uses her correct pronouns
> 
> also a general warning for violence

Adaar sits with her back pressed against hard rock while Commander Rutherford holds off the demons crowding them back against the boulder. She whistles a mindless tune as she pries open the secret compartment in the heel of her boot with the nails on her right hand. A light string crawls down Rutherford's side to his own boot, the kind that pulses with need. Secret stash of lyrium probably.

"Can you--" He bashes one demon with his shield and cuts down another. "Stand?"

"Juuust another twenty seconds, sir," Daar drawls.

No need to be impressed with how well he's handling five demons on his own, backed into a corner, exhausted, and yet still protecting her. Nope, no need to acknowledge that at all. Just concentrate on holding the red vial she'd looted off the dead mage steady between her knees, pour in the black powder one-handed, give it a hard shake, and--

"Shield up," she shouts, tossing the vial over his head.

Daar lifts her foot and braces the sole of her boot against his lower back just before the explosion hits. The force of it nearly throws Rutherford back into her, but she's already wedged into the tight rock corner and the strength of her leg bracing him keeps the Commander upright.

Fuck, she hates fire, but demons are a close second on the hate scale and sometimes you just have to fight hate with hate.

Rutherford dispatches the two nearest demons wounded from the explosion, and Daar lets him have at it. Her left hand is still clenched up in pain. Can't feel her fingers anymore. That's probably not good, but it isn't her sword hand, so it's irrelevant for the moment.

Then more green strings suddenly tighten, the ones leading off on the other side of the rocky outcrop to the east. Daar groans. Where the fuck is Lassiter? He's supposed to have the right flank, but fuck all for that. She and Rutherford are too far forward for the main force to send any reinforcements either.

Between her mark and her group of Templar guards flaunting their abilities, every demon on the goddamn mountain had gone straight for them. Breaking off into smaller groups spread out the demon aggression at least, but it had left her and Rutherford fighting together on their own.

"Commander!" Daar hauls herself to her feet. "We got fuckos coming in from the east."

Rutherford bashes a demon back and cuts down a second. "Lassiter?"

She concentrates for a moment, searching through all the hundreds of other strings--soldiers, demons, more rifts?--then finds that feels like a sour faced fuck slurper. It trails off much farther in the distance, not strung tight like the approaching demons.

"I believe he's jacking off in the bushes somewhere, sir," she calls back.

"What?!"

"Inside joke, nevermind!"

The new group of demons emerge from behind the rocks up ahead, and Daar forces down another groan when the greater horror leading the pack opens its mouth to scream. She'd give just about anything to not deal with that bullshit right now and decides "anything" will have to include her sword.

"Hold your position!" Rutherford orders when she steps forward.

"Yes sir."

He growls in warning when she takes one more step in defiance of his order, but she's just building momentum for swinging her arm down. Daar lets go at the perfect second, and the sword hurls through the air as the greater horror draws a deep breath, then embeds in its chest. The demon chokes in confusion and staggers sideways.

"See?" Daar grins at Rutherford and shoots him a wink. "Problem so—"

A screech slices through her word, splitting the air and shattering her concentration. Discipline kicks in a half-second later, and she pushes through the paralysis to turn back and face the demons. A second greater horror brings up the rear, pushing through the shades to charge at her.

Sword gone. Only one hand functional. Four shades, two wraiths, and a greater terror still on its way. So maybe sacrificing her sword didn't do that much after all. But she's faced worse odds.

"Shield!" Rutherford yells.

That's the only warning he gives before throwing the damn thing at her. Daar catches it with her right hand mostly out of instinct, without any idea what the hell he thinks he's doing. Being fucking ... chivalrous or something. Figures she would find the only Templar in Thedas who isn't an asshole and be mated to him and he's an omega male because _of course_ he is, did she really think the universe would skimp out on an opportunity to fuck her over?

Well fuck it right back.

Adaar lifts the shield up and charges right back at the greater terror before Rutherford can order her to hold again. She crashes into the demon, and greater terror or not, it's a spindly fucker that goes down hard under three hundred pounds of Qunari. The other six demons will be on her in a moment, but Daar only pushes up enough to draw back her arm and shield bash its head. The demon's claws first scrabble at the ground, then it gets the bright idea to latch onto her shoulders instead. Daar ignores the stabs of pain and turns the shield to slam the edge of it down on its throat.

Two shades almost on her. She can lift the shield up to defend against one of them. Kick the other away, try to keep her balance on the ice, get her foot back down and grounded before facing the other four demons. Pushing to her feet right now will rip the terror's claws still embedded in her shoulders down her back though.

Risk of falling, necessary.

Non-fatal injury, acceptable.

A weight suddenly presses down on her back just before Daar stands, then Rutherford swoops down on the first shade. The momentum of his descent drives his sword all the way into the shade's neck and shoulder and halfway through its chest. The Templar has excellent form, goddamn him—even if he did just catapult off of her. It’s hard to be mad at him though when he probably could have cleaved the demon in half with a two-handed sword.

Daar shoves that thought away and twists out of the dead terror's grip with minimal scrapes. By the time she stands up, Rutherford has yanked his sword out of the first shade, cut down the second, and stands ready for the four other demons coming at them.

This time Adaar tosses the shield to Rutherford as she jogs past. "Shield!"

He fumbles with it for a second, but to be fair, the shield she considers a bit small spans almost half the length of his body. But the two shades and two wraiths up ahead are more focused on the Qunari running at them than the human behind her. Daar dodges the claws of one shade and shoulder checks the other as she dashes past. The wraiths spin toward her and magic crackles, but then it suddenly drops as Rutherford hits them with a Cleanse.

Daar ignores the fight behind her, only skidding to a stop when she reaches the dead greater terror with her sword sticking out of its chest. She grabs the hilt and turns to see both the shades have followed her. Great, two demons for her and two for Rutherford.

She twirls the sword and grips it with the blade pointing back under her arm like she's going to a knife fight. The shades both attack at once. Daar slashes across the closest demon's ribs, then whirls and stabs the other in the chest. A quick tug pulls the blade back out so she can slam the pommel of the hilt into the first demon's temple.

They both hit the ground, and Adaar can finally close the rift, despite the pain that makes her left arm curl up against her chest like a withered spider leg.

Rutherford finishes off the last wraith a moment later, and it's not a competition, but Daar cleared her demons and the rift first. He makes eye contact with her and from the way his eyes narrow, it's "not" a competition for him too and he knows he lost. That's why Daar doesn't do shields. They just slow people down.

"The next time I tell you to hold your position—"

A demon knocked down from the explosion stirs, not dead, rising up behind Cull—her mat— _the Commander_. Adaar hurls her sword again, the blade passing barely inches over his shoulder to hit the demon's chest, but Rutherford flips his sword to mimic her grip from earlier, jabbing it back into the creature's stomach without pausing in his lecture.

"You will hold your position." Rutherford wrenches his sword out and the demon crumples behind him. "And stop throwing your sword!"

"Dagger."

Daar forces herself to exhale after saying the word, fucking breathe out, he’s not hurt, it’s fine, he didn’t even need her help killing the demon. She strolls over to him like she’s never had a care in her life, smirking as she pulls her own sword free.

“This is a dagger to me."

“And this is a battlefield, I am your Commander, and you will keep your weapon on your person,” he snaps back, nose and brow both scrunched up in anger. “And where did you get that explosive?"

And of course he’s hot when he’s angry. The universe just cannot give her a break today. Daar can’t help grinning back at him though. If she has to be mated with an omega, at least she got one who clearly isn’t afraid to yell at her when she steps out of line. Who looks damn good doing it too. In fact, she’d love for him to scale her like the next mountain he intends to conquer and make—

Wait, shit, she needs to say something back now. Something witty and sexy but not too obviously flirtatious.

“I am a weapon,” Daar says with a wink.

No, what the fuck! Not that. Why the shitting son of a dick did she say _that_? Rutherford’s eyes flutter shut as he inhales and holds his breath, visibly holding back more yelling, likely because he doesn’t even know how to process how stupid that was.

Not how she wanted to leave him breathless.

“Commander!” Pentaghast thankfully puts the awkward moment out of its misery as she jogs over. “Lassiter has gone completely rogue. He’s leading his own charge up another path further east."

“How much of our right flank has he he taken with us?” Rutherford immediately asks.

The grimace Pentaghast makes speaks for her. On the bright side, it looks like that question about the explosive can go unanswered for a little while longer.

“Stay by me,” Rutherford orders Daar, leading the way back to the main force. “If you insist on using your sword like a throwing knife, I do not want to leave you unprotected. How is your hand?"

“I prefer punching people to holding a shield anyway, so this works out great,” Daar replies easily.

Pentaghast shoots a worried look at her left hand, fingers locked up in a clenched fist from the constant pain. Daar doesn’t look to see if Rutherford’s face shares the Seeker’s concern. She doesn’t need any more reminders of how hard he’s trying to protect her—how he already defended her when the last expansion of the Breach nearly caused her to pass out, separated from the main force, and he didn’t abandon her or—

“Sir!” The squire boy from earlier is the first to approach them. “Templar Lassiter, he …”

Squire Boy points up the mountain to the east, where a second path is now visible past the rocky outcrop below. The soldiers picking their way up the mountain are easy to spot, lead by a lone Templar far in front.

“Maker’s—“ Rutherford smothers the curse and turns to Daar. “You said there is only one rift along the western path. How many are up there?"

“At least three,” she answers. “Maybe four? If we’re ass deep in demons, he’s up to his ugly face. Hell, there’s enough demons up there to go over my head."

“Get me an archer,” Rutherford tells the squire boy. “With explosive rounds."

“What do you plan to do?” Pentaghast asks.

“That craig.” He points it out. “Hit that, it will wipe out the path and stop Lassiter’s advance. Perhaps slow the demons as well."

Daar raises an eyebrow. “And if Lassiter gets caught in the avalanche too?"

Rutherford looks back at her with a blank face. “I have faith the Maker will protect him."

She barks out a laugh. “That is so petty, and I support you completely, Commander."

A beta hurries over, and not to stereotype, but Daar assumes this is the archer. He huffs for a second after arriving, then belatedly snaps to a confused salute, turning slightly between her, Pentaghast, and Rutherford. Daar makes eye contact with the beta, then cuts her eyes over to Rutherford. But the beta stands frozen by the split-second of eye contact, now fully focused on the Biggest Alpha Who Looked at Him First.

Daar jerks her head less subtly in Rutherford’s direction as a hint that he’s in charge, but the beta’s eyes just stare in panicked confusion. Rutherford himself clears his throat to no effect.

“Sir?” the beta finally asks, still looking at Adaar. “Uhh, I mean, ma’am?"

“OK yes, you do need to address a sir right now,” Daar says. “But I am not one of those. So find the man and—no!"

The beta stops his cautious glance over at Pentaghast and whips his head back to Daar again.

“The man,” she says slowly.

The beta looks around, then actually leans to the side to look past Rutherford for some other alpha male who might be in charge. Daar has to force down a growl at the sheer ignorance.

“It’s fine,” Rutherford says before she can set the beta straight.

Daar closes her mouth and nods. She’s had people refuse to recognize her for being a woman, and people refuse to recognize that she is a woman. People who look at her horns and her skin and deny she’s a person at all.

And maybe it’s just the Mark, but she feels a little dizzy seeing it happen to Rutherford, like the world has tilted sideways two degrees. He’s a male soldier, and although Daar doesn’t know his breeding stock, that alone would merit him a large amount of privilege under the Qun. Even outside of it, he was still a light-skinned human, which seemed to be the other two essential qualities for personhood.

Yet none of that matters, all for being an omega. Back in her homeland, Qun or Tal-Vashoth, that would only be a footnote. But hadn’t she come to Thedas desperate for a culture that valued biology over gender so she could grab the privilege of being an Alpha without the oppression of being a woman?

Granted, so long as she did actually pass for a woman, but Rutherford facing his own form of discrimination shouldn’t surprise her at all considering how she herself had treated omega males after leaving the Qun.

Rutherford breaks the awkward silence. “How many explosive rounds do you have left?"

“Uh, one. Sir?” the beta answers, still hesitant to recognize him as the authority.

Rutherford’s jaw tightens and he gives a curt nod. “Then I need you not to miss. Do you see that craig?"

Daar follows where he points and fights down a groan. Now that she’s gotten a good second look, it’s easier to spot the strings tied to Rutherford and Pentaghast that trail up and off to that side of the mountain. The same strings she’d seen connect them to Leliana before. There’s even the whisky connection between Daar and Tethras, so the other mountain pass the second group took almost certainly goes near the craig Rutherford currently plans to blow up.

“Maybe a little to the left, Commander,” Daar suggests.

Hurt flashes openly across Rutherford’s face for the briefest of seconds when she questions his authority too, but Daar ignores the way that makes her chest ache, and cold determination quickly replaces the look on his face.

“Why are you questioning my order, Adaar?” he asks her flatly.

And she can’t reassure him or explain it. The thought of explaining about the strings at all never even crosses her mind. Why would she ever trust anyone else?

“Trust me,” Daar says instead.

Pentaghast glares at her. “That is not a reason."

“It’s an excellent reason,” she counters. “You want to know if you can trust me? This is it. Because I can’t explain how I know he needs to aim left. But if you trust me, and I’m right, you’ll know Andraste really is guiding me. And if I’m wrong, you’ll know I’m just making shit up."

“Too far left will risk sending the avalanche down on my soldiers,” Rutherford says.

“Yes, but just a little left will only risk Lassiter,” Daar points out. “Isn’t one unlikable asshole who won’t even obey orders a small risk?"

They don’t have much time before Lassiter gets too far ahead for this to work, but Rutherford takes a long moment to consider her. Daar meets his gaze steadily, shoulders back but loose from tension.

Trust me.

Even though she would never trust him if their roles were reversed. Won’t even trust him now with the real reason to adjust the target. It’s a selfish thing for her to ask, but she doesn’t want him to feel guilty for accidentally killing his friends, and it’s the thought that counts, right?

“A little to the left,” Rutherford finally tells the beta.

Despite his earlier hesitance to accept orders from an omega, he does at least snap to this order. He draws his arrow back and only aims for a second before letting it fly.

“He needed you not to—"

The explosion interrupts Pentaghast’s rebuke, not quite directly on the craig, but just a little bit to the left. As requested. The beta sniffles back a loogie and shrugs.

“Didn’t miss,” he says. “Used to shoot apples off my cousin’s head, ’til me mum gave us a good slap for it."

The four of them all pause in silence for a moment to watch the small rush of white sweep down. It’s going down the wrong side to hit Haven, and the roads are all snowed in anyway, so there’s not much to worry about other than the troops. The Lassiter-smudge turns back too late and disappears. More snow crashes down closer and closer to the troops behind him, but it settles before taking anyone else.

Pentaghast blows a horn to signal them back, and one-by-one, the remaining smudges start to turn.

“Your mum still alive?” Daar asks the beta.

He stiffens and busies himself checking over his bow. “Yes, um. Mmm. Ma’am?"

“Think she would mind coming up here to slap those idiots good?"

The beta relaxes some and even gives a small smile. “Well, she’s holed up in our home right now, screeching about how it’s her property and you lot can evacuate her when she’s a cold dead corpse."

“Wonderful,” Rutherford says deadpan. “When this is over, she can get together with my mum for tea and to speculate why we’re not married yet."

Pentaghast snorts, and Daar raises her eyebrow at him. Why _isn’t_ this young, handsome, accomplished military leader not engaged yet? Rutherford flushes like he knows what she’s wondering and clears his throat.

“We resume our march and meet with the right flank along the way,” he says. “Pentaghast, back on the left. I’ll take the right flank. Tell your troops there’s only one more rift before we reach the temple."

Pentaghast nods to acknowledge her orders and whistles at the beta to follow her as she leaves.

“Sooo.” Daar grins at Rutherford.

He begins marching without looking at her. “Stay close to me."

“Sure, of course,” she agrees. “Anyway, just wondering—"

“Is this question military related?"

“Yes."

“ … really?"

She fakes offense. “Yes, Commander."

Rutherford gives her a narrow-eyed glance, but begrudgingly says, “Very well."

“Why don’t you have a marriage arranged?” she asks.

“That is not military-related,” he says tightly.

“Yes it is,” Daar argues. “You’re an accomplished knight-Templar, albeit not from a noble family, but your rise through the Order’s ranks was impressive."

Rutherford whips his head around to stare at her fully. “How do you know that?"

She shrugs. “Listen, I’m just a big dumb Qunari who doesn’t know jack about shit, and I’d really like you authority figures to continue thinking that, but maybe I’m not a complete fucking idiot and I learned at least two basic facts about the important people attending the Conclave."

His face stays so blank, it’s obvious how much effort he’s putting into keeping it that way. “And I’m an important person."

“Notorious might be the better word,” Daar admits.

“Well there’s your answer."

He pivots on his heel and begins marching again before she can respond. So he’s not engaged then, and likely not romantically involved with anyone either. Daar follows after him, her mind already turning around how to remedy that.

After all the, sooner she marries him off, the less she has to worry about anything … _developing_ … between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up next, Cullen Worries over Daar, while she pretends she's fine and has a contest with Varric to _come_ up with the best euphemisms for "penis"


	7. Absolutely Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally make it up the mountain, yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the long wait between updates. I had a death in my immediate family, and uhhhh yeah. things just got really hectic and stressful, so I didn't even bother trying to worry about this
> 
> I'm back now though and I still have a few chapters written out ahead, so I think I might actually finish this fic! wow!!

Cullen is close to carrying Adaar by the time they reach the top of the mountain. She’d only acquiesced to putting her arm around him after the second time the Mark nearly sent her to her knees, but now he’s supporting at least half her weight as they stagger their way into the ruins of the temple.

“This is where we found you.” Pentaghast points pas the crumbling half wall to the flattened courtyard directly below the Breach. “You stepped out of the Fade and collapsed. Do you remember?"

“Let her _rest_.” Cullen swallows and attempts to make his voice less snappish when he speaks to Daar next. “You can sit here."

He helps her lower slowly to sit on part of the wall, holding onto her arm longer than she needs, reluctant to let go. He’s heard the primal beat that thrums through a battle and Maker knows he still hears the call of lyrium, but a new song pounds through him now.

Hurt, hurt hurt.

His mate is hurt, and he needs to _fix it_. Daar opens her mouth to say something, but he immediately shoves his water flask in her face.

“You need to stay hydrated,” he says, more sternly than he intended.

Daar’s lips quirk in amusement, but she takes the flask and drinks. Cullen crosses his arms when she tries to hand it back to him, staring her down until she drinks more. If she isn’t making inappropriate remarks, she isn’t hydrated enough.

“Do you have any other injuries?” he asks, looking over her critically. “Feeling light-headed? Do your feet hurt? Have—"

“Wait, are you offering foot rubs?” Daar interrupts. “Now I have to call into question why you aren’t married yet all over again.”

Cassandra arches her eyebrow. “Again?"

Cullen clears his throat and stiffly replies, “That was irrelevant then and it is irrelevant now. Why are you following my orders?"

Daar’s own eyebrows both shoot up for a moment, but then she leans back and seems wiling to humor the quick subject change. “Well, you have the army. I needed an army to get to the top of the mountain. So."

“You could have just taken it."

“Just taken ... the army?"

Cassandra steps back into the conversation with a begrudging admission. “You have not been anything near obedient, but. You never challenged myself or Leliana either. You deferred to Rutherford in front of the other soldiers. You have been very—“ She struggles to find the right word. “Easy going?"

Daar grins. “I’m a laid back kinda gal."

“Ugh."

Cullen steps in again. “The troops were reluctant to follow the orders of ..." He swallows and forces himself to say it. “An omega. You, at least, are an alpha. Likely on the same level of Cassandra and Leliana, even without any dominance posturing."

The Seeker crosses her arms and harrumphs again, but she doesn’t contest his observation. He waits to see what Daar will say to that, but she simply looks back at him, expression interested but not quite understanding. A very well crafted _who me?_ look, but he’s lectured the Hawkes far too many times to fall for it.

Whatever cards she’s holding close to her chest, he bets it’s a winning hand.

“You haven’t done any posturing at all,” Cassandra continues, then grimaces. “You saw how disorganized we are. No one truly knows who should lead. Yet you seem to be content to let Rutherford do so, despite knowing his biology."

Daar gives a lazy shrug. “I don’t want the responsibility. And it’s not like you’ve made a grab for power either."

“Cullen is my friend and I am confident in his capabilities.” Cassandra pauses looks over the other woman. “Are you certain you are not injured?"

“I’m fine."

“Is the Mark draining you too much?” Cullen asks.

“Nope."

Cassandra frowns. “Do you need a health potion?"

“Probably shouldn’t."

“Do you _need_ it?” Cullen presses.

Daar looks between the two of them and rolls her eyes. “What, because I don’t want to fight either of you for control, there must be something wrong with me?"

“Yes,” Cassandra says.

“Wow. Progressive."

“You’d rather run into a pack of demons than have someone care for you,” Cullen says before her snark pisses Cassandra off too much. “So either answer my original question or I worry about you."

“Worry about me?” Daar asks. “You offering back rubs now too, Rutherford?"

Cullen clenches his jaw against his blush. “If that is what you need."

She snorts and shakes her head, but the next moment it’s her teeth that grit down hard, exhaled air punched out between them in a hiss as the Mark flares again. Green light plays along the burned stone, but Cullen doesn’t stop to observe how the Breach pulses with her Mark, immediately going to his knees in front of her.

“M’fine,” Daar growls out.

He doesn’t even dignify that with an argument. “Breathe with me. In, through your nose. Out … slow … through your mouth."

Adaar clenches her eyes shut, still pressed back into the part of the stone still upright to lean away from him, but she breathes the way he instructed. Cullen inhales loudly, then exhales in a long slow whoosh. It’s as much for him as it is for her, because there’s not a goddamn thing else he can do. There’s no other comfort or relief he knows how to offer her, so he kneels and breathes with her until the spasms in her hand die down.

“You’re hurt. Dying.” He has to clear his throat after forcing that word out. “Let me help you."

“Fine, fine, stop with the puppy eyes,” Daar grumbles, voice almost as rough as his. “I’ll answer the question, just get up. You don’t need to fight dirty like this, damn."

That wasn’t what he meant. At this point, he’d forget the whole matter entirely if she would just tell him what he could do to make it better, the slightest thing at all, but they both know he’s useless. The most he can do is keep her talking and distracted until Leliana arrives with the mage.

He stands. “All right. Explain."

Daar flexes her left hand, pressed up against her chest between her—not that he’s looking at those. Over her heart. Her arm is bent so her hand reaches up to rest over her heart. She exhales again, then meets his gaze.

“Gender is the most important a person can do under the Qun,” she says. “And we don’t have three hours to get into how gender is more of a doing than a state of being to us, and all the other ways it’s different from your two genders. But the biology of an accomplished male-soldier is …”

Daar trails off and blows air through her lips in exasperation.

“ _Pbbl_. A footnote."

“Really?” Cassandra asks for him. “There is no discrimination at all and you have never been bothered by an omega in charge?"

“Mm.” Daar adopts a blank expression again. “That’s a very personal question, Seeker."

Cassandra starts to argue back, but Cullen cuts her off by clearing his throat.

“Make sure the troops have established an organized perimeter,” he tells her.

She pauses for a moment, then nods. “Commander."

They wait in silence until she leaves, and he looks expectantly at Daar once she’s gone.

“She still hasn’t learned the difference between supporting you and talking over you yet, huh?” Daar asks.

Cullen blinks. “Ah, no."

Daar nods and takes another swig out of the water canteen. “Yeah. I’m still trying to learn that. And the answer to her question is no. As soon as I got out of the Qun … I was so, just, sickly fucking excited to finally be the one on top. Beta and omega men deferring to _me_ , a woman. I was a total selfish asshole."

“What happened?"

He gets the blank look again, but he just crosses his arms and presses on.

“I’ve heard enough stories from Varric to know that was just the start of one."

Daar shifts her gaze away and looks past him to stare out at the view. With the temple destroyed, they can both gaze straight out onto the mountainside that slopes down to Haven. She’s silent for a long moment before she speaks again, still not looking at him.

“I met a man, an omega. He was kind and beautiful and helped people. He was good and—“ Adaar barks out a laugh. “Everything I wasn’t, basically. Now he’s dead."

Cullen turns and stares down the mountain too, without actually seeing anything. Nothing much had happened when he first saw her. The world didn’t stop or tilt or fall down around him from the force of meeting his mate.

But it sure as hell does now.

He’s not sure how long it takes before everything realigns and thoughts creep back into his head. The first cuts the deepest, but he’s used to bad thoughts burrowing into him, so he just lets the pain wash over him.

His mate already had a mate. And she lost him and—

And Maker, he’s fucking moping about it like he’s the one who’s hurt.

“My apologies,” he finally murmurs. “I overstepped, and I should not have—that wasn’t something you had to tell me."

“It was,” Daar immediately says. “You deserve to know … I'll do my best to respect you, but yeah. I’ll probably also get weird about it sometimes. Overprotective. Micro-managing. I’ll try not to, but uh. You look like him."

Oh.

He might say that out loud. Cullen isn’t sure, because it turns out he actually can hurt worse than he already does. Is he just a cheap imitation of her real mate, her dead mate that he’ll always remind her of? Or was the other man not her mate at all, just close enough that she fell in love and now she’ll always pine for him instead?

One of those possibilities should probably hurt worse than the other, but it’s a toss up at the moment.

“I’m loud and flirtatious and still kind of an asshole.” Daar breaks the silence. “And what’s appropriate or inappropriate here is very different from the Qun. So if I’m the one who oversteps, I’d prefer you tell me outright. Or Pentaghast. I’m sure she’d be happy to yell at me for you."

Cullen swallows it down. All his pain and disappointment, and reminds himself as bad as this feels now, at least it’s not Kirkwall. He hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s protecting people, and the only things he’s killing to make that happen is demons. No justifying that anyone has to die for the greater good.

How could he dare ask for more? To make it out of Kirkwall alive, join a better purpose, find his mate—and then still expect to get a happily ever after. All that, after everything he’s done?

Absolutely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't resist that sweet sweet angst
> 
> anyway, so are y'all still enjoying Cullen's POV here? not to pressure you guys or anything, but I suddenly got less comments once I started posting chapters written in his voice. idk if that's connected or coincidence, but I'd really appreciate some feedback since this is my first time writing him
> 
>  **coming up next:** the party regroups and sees the Breach up close for the first time, and boy, is it a doozy of a motherfucker


	8. duh-nuhnuh-nuhnuh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar and Varric have a contest to name the most dick synonyms, and Cullen gets jealous and overprotective because Solas keeps touching _his_ mate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy so I'm finally back! I swear I really do intend on finishing this, it's just hard to work on stuff right now. it was my sister who died, so my whole family has been going through a lot. I think I'm at the point now where writing is going to help again, it's just super hard to find the motivation at the moment. 
> 
> thank you for everyone who had a kind comment last time! I may not have replied to all of them, but they've really helped me feel better and scrounge up some motivation to keep working ^^

“Hey, Curly!"

Varric and the apostate mage hike into the ruined temple from the opposite side before Cullen can respond to Adaar’s request. Even though he just decided he wouldn’t expect anything of her, he can’t stop another irrational surge of jealousy simply from seeing the elf’s face.

He focuses on Varric instead. “Where is Leliana?”

“Having a handshake with Cassandra,” he quips. “What’s with nearly blowing us up?"

Blowing—the avalanche to cut off Templar Lassiter. And Varric said _nearly_ , which meant if the archer from before hadn’t aimed a little to the left ...

“Yes, the next time you have the brilliant idea to cause an avalanche, perhaps consider who else may be on the mountain.” The mage sweeps past Cullen before he can reply and crowds in to stand in front of Adaar. “How is the mark?"

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she says without scooting over or uncurling her fist.

Cullen tries to make eye contact with Daar, to get any sort of insight into her reaction to this news, but she carefully doesn’t look at him. She said if she was right about that, he’d know Andraste was guiding her. Possible proof for her story of being divinely chosen seems like something they should really talk about, _right now_ , but he’s unsure of how much he should reveal in front of the others.

Well. Really just in front of the mage, who gestures at her impatiently.

“Let me see,” he says.

Daar puts on a cheery teacher voice. “Now Solas, we’re all big children here, so we ask, not demand."

“Please,” the mage states flatly.

She sighs and carefully unclenches her left hand for him to inspect. Solas steps in even closer, despite Cullen refusing to back up, so the mage bumps against him as he crouches next to Adaar.

“I suppose I need to ask you for some space to work with as well?” he asks.

Cullen takes one tiny baby step back, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he watches over the mage.

“I don’t believe this is a Harrowing, _Commander_ ,” the elf says.

Cullen flushes but doesn’t remove his hand. “I don’t believe you’ve ever had one, _apostate_."

Daar snorts, and Solas cuts a sharp glance up at her.

“You find that amusing?” he asks, then lowers his head with a scoff and presses his thumb into her mark.

Daar grits her teeth like the action pains her, but the mage pays her no mind. Cullen meets her eyes, tapping a thumb against his pommel. She gives a minute shake of her head no.

“Actually, I was meaning to thank you, Solas,” she says.

“For saving your life, keeping you alive after that, or slowing the effects of the mark?” he murmurs without looking up as he does some sort of magic on her hand.

“For being such a dick,” Daar replies. “I really think the rest of us are all bonding better because of it."

The mage gives another irritated scoff, but she isn’t done.

“Let’s see, Rutherford and I already shared exasperated eye contact, so Tethras, what’s a synonym for dick?"

“Trouser snake,” Varric immediately replies.

“Oh please, you can do better than that,” Daar says. “How about flesh flute?"

Cullen can’t help making a disgusted, confused little noise, but Varric chuckles heartily.

“Looks like I’ll have to rise to the occasion,” the dwarf says with a wink. “I see your flesh flute and raise you beef whistle."

“I counter with beaver basher."

“Baby arm."

“All right, no,” Cullen says.

Neither listen.

“Tan banana."

“Spawn hammer."

“Will you two please—"

“I know this is weak,” Daar speaks over him. “But relevant because he’s a mage, so. Fuck wand."

“Hmm.” Varric rubs his chin. “I’ll accept it. But consider—baloney pony."

“Not as good as piss weasel."

Cullen scrubs a hand over his face. He said he wanted to keep her talking and distracted. Technically, the dwarf is doing that, damn him. He looks back at Daar. Her easy smirk doesn’t falter in the slightest as Solas works, but he suddenly gets the sense that she’s in pain again while Varric laughs. Her shoulders don’t tense and her right hand stays loose and relaxed, so what—

A sweeping glance over her catches the faintest of movements at the top of her boots, the leather pressing up slightly and then falling down. Cullen probably wouldn’t have spotted it if he didn’t do it himself sometimes, on the long missions when the last lyrium supplement was days ago and no one knows when the next one will get in or if there’ll be enough for everyone and his blood feels like it’s going to crawl out of his skin.

She’s curling her toes. Flex, uncurl. Toenails probably scraping the inside of her boot’s sole.

How many times has he stood at attention, hands locked behind his back and nails digging into his wrists, toes curling unseen in his boots as he prayed his superior officer would deem him necessary enough for a precious dose of the limited amount of lyrium?

“Keep ‘em coming, Tethras,” Daar says, smirking at her own pun with no other indication of the pain she’s in.

“Thundersword,” Varric immediately replies.

“Schlong dong-a-doodle."

“Custard launcher."

Daar leans forward and clearly enunciates each word. “Yogurt. Trebuchet."

That finally draws a reaction from Solas. “Really, Adaar? Commander, would you please put a stop to this unnecessary display of vulgarity so I may _concentrate_?"

“I believe she just won,” Cullen says, and not only because she’s his mate. He liked trebuchets before this, but now he’ll never be able to calibrate one again without thinking of that.

Wonderful.

“Curly, no!” Varric gasps in fake despair. “Ah, well. I suppose no amount of literary genius can match th—"

Daar’s right hand suddenly shoots out and smacks against the partially destroyed wall, sending a section of stone crumbling down. The green light pulsating out of her left hand swells, even as Solas holds his own hand above it to stem the flow.

“I’m fi-aaahhhn."

Her reassurance turns into a choked off growl as the magic suddenly expands to encircle her entire hand. Whatever Solas is doing to help isn’t enough. That doesn’t stop Cullen from yelling at him anyway.

“Make it stop!"

“I assure you, I am trying,” the mage says through gritted teeth.

“Try harder!” Cullen snaps.

“We should all consider it a miracle she was not dead a half hour ago, so you should really—"

Cullen has his sword half-drawn before he even thinks about it, voice dropping to a low snarl. “ _You_ should really—"

“Rutherford."

Adaar’s voice splits through his rage like an arrow, and he forces himself to stop, grip so tight on the hilt he can’t feel his fingers, practically trembling with pent up force—or lyrium withdrawal.

“Not what … I need,” she tells him through the pain.

Cullen clenches his jaw until his face hurts, until his chest loosens enough that he can take a slow inhale through his nose. Solas ignores him completely as he continues to do … something to the mark. There’s so much strange magic whirling around Daar’s left hand, he can’t make out what belongs to the mage or mark, much less what exactly either is doing.

Because there’s nothing he can do to help her. The man who can is already doing so, and Cullen almost just pulled his sword on him. He swallows hard and tries to make his dry tongue form words.

“Tell me,” he rasps.

“Boot.”

Daar sticks her foot out, and he immediately drops to his knees, shaking hands carefully lifting her boot up.

“Heel."

At first, he thinks it’s another command for him. That she’s realized he’s just a rabid dog and no one’s holding his leash anymore, but then it clicks. He has his vial down the side of his boot, doesn’t he, so he carefully traces his fingers along the heel of her boot until his nail catches on what she has hidden. It doesn’t take much pressure to pry open a secret compartment, and a small packet falls into his lap.

“Tethras … health potion,” Daar says.

Solas shakes his head with a mutter. “Inadvisable."

Cullen is past giving a shit about his opinion though, and apparently Varric is too, because the dwarf holds out a potion practically within the next second. Daar takes the packet first and rips it open with her teeth, then carefully pours some sort of powder into the bottle as Varric holds it steady for her.

“What is that?” Cullen asks.

The mage sniffs the air and answers before she can. “Do _not_. I nearly have—ah!"

Daar’s eyes squeeze shut, and Cullen’s own snap to her left hand, but the green magic surrounding it is slowly shrinking in on itself, back inside the mark. She lets out a shuddering exhale, then breathes in and lets out a steadier breath.

“Adaar?” Cullen starts to say more, but any sort of question about if she’s all right is pointless. “Do you still need the potion."

She takes another deep breath, then opens her eyes again. “I will for the next contraction."

Heavy footsteps signal someone running over to them, followed by the scent of alpha. Cullen doesn’t bother turning to see if it’s Cassandra or Leliana because the latter would never make that much noise.

“What happened?” Cassandra demands.

“Magicky bullshit,” Daar answers before anyone else.

“What she means, is that the Breach’s exponential expansion—"

Cullen speaks over Solas’s explanation of the magicky bullshit. “Are there any more demons coming out of the rifts below us?"

“No, it has been quiet since we arrived,” Cassandra answers.

“Courtyard under the Breach looks clear too,” Varric says.

Cassandra nods. “We can only thank the Maker nothing has come out of it."

Varric lets out a long groan. “Andraste’s sweet nurturing tits, Seeker. Now we’re definitely fucked."

“What?” she asks.

“It's saving up,” Daar mutters.

Since it’s the only thing he can think of to help her, Cullen picks up his water canteen from where she dropped it and hands it back to her. She takes it with a small nod of appreciation, and he tries not to blush from the heady rush of approval. Belatedly, he realizes that she is an alpha, and he’s kneeling at her feet. Does that mean he really does have long-dormant omega instincts awakening or is it just coincidence?

But that's irrelevant for now.

“Saving up for what?” he asks when she finishes drinking the last of the water.

“Something big,” Daar says. “That’s our fucking luck, isn’t it? It’s only quiet now, because something fuck ugly is about to crawl outta there and wreck our shit. So yeah, I’m gonna need that potion before then."

“Absolutely not,” Solas speaks up. “That is pure powdered caffeine you mixed in, with a _health potion_. The combination of two stimulants that powerful will stop your heart."

“Qunari don’t have hearts,” Daar retorts.

Solas throws up his hands and begins muttering in elven. Cullen stands up, then rubs the back of his neck, opening his mouth and closing it several times before finally speaking.

“If it is that dangerous …” he trails off, aware he’s the last person who should lecture about unhealthy drugs. “Is it really necessary? You already made it up here. Can you seal the Breach without it?"

“This kicks harder, yeah, but it doesn’t have the same addiction rate or withdrawal symptoms of lyrium,” she explains. “Gonna have a splitting migraine, irritable as fuck, and not shit right for a week, but then I’ll be fine."

Cullen purses his lips. “He said it would stop your heart."

Daar just scoffs. “Yeah, well, my heart is bigger and stronger than any of yours, and it hasn’t killed me the last fifty-three times I’ve done this, so I think I know my body’s limits better than some eight-and-a-half stone elf."

“Very well then,” Solas finally stops swearing long enough to say. “Since _you_ are the medical expert here."

Varric hands over the potion, surprisingly without comment. He must be worried about her too if he doesn’t have any witty quips left.

Daar lifts the small bottle like she’s toasting and makes eye contact with Cullen. “Wanna go halfsies?"

He blinks and swallows, hoping his hunger isn’t actually that obvious. But the offer of something—even if it’s not lyrium—just anything at all right now, has his whole body practically vibrating with need.

Cassandra’s hand touches his arm. “We should at least see the Breach first. Then decide. And perhaps ... someone else should hold that?"

Daar rolls her eyes, but hands the potion over to the Seeker. "Well, I suppose if we're going to be reasonable, then yeah. We can go take a look at it first."

Cullen immediately steps forward to help her up, and if he happens to shoulder-check Solas a bit, perhaps the mage shouldn’t be standing so close to her. She slings her arm back around his shoulders with a sigh rather than refusing the help. The issue of whether or not she’ll take the potion also seems to be put on hold as Cassandra leads their small party deeper into the destroyed ruins of the temple.

Shriveled bodies kneel on the ground. Some lay on their sides or back, mouthing frozen screams. Others cover their faces, as if they saw the blast coming. Fires still flicker among the rubble.

Daar doesn’t even wear metal armor. His hand grasps against one of the straps along her back, holding the leather breastplate in place. Perhaps she wore leather greaves too before Cassandra put her in chains, but now the only other form of protection she has are the sturdy boots on her feet.

Yet she leans warm and solid against him. Cullen knew she was the only survivor, but ...

Maker’s breath, _what_ she survived and with so little protection. He hadn’t understood the full extent of the miracle until now.

Then they round one of the few corners of wall still standing and it manages to get even worse. Two, no, three levels down an entire area is completely flattened. Low enough to be the escape tunnels Daar said she found.

And above it burns the Breach, an impossible chasm in the sky.

“You’re going to need a bigger potion,” Varric mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **coming up next:** the group goes down to check out the Breach, sees red lyrium where it is NOT supposed to be, and gets a glimpse of what really happened at the Conclave ...
> 
> also, Daar just fucking vaults over the railings, completely missing out on the side path with the red lyrium because that's what I did in-game? I had no idea that shit was even there?? Cassandra said to find a way down! so I did!! by JUMPING because stairs are for assholes
> 
> so I ended up keeping that for this next chapter since I thought that was 100% completely in character for Daar, lmao


	9. I've Never Seen that Magister Before in my Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daar continues to insist she had no idea what happened at the Conclave, only to see ghost-Daar running around with the Divine. Seeker Pentaghast is not happy. Then Daar opens the rift and no one's happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, I'm back! It's been about a year now, but I never forgot about Cullen and Adaar. I've actually been mentally writing them the whole time, and I think it's given me a better handle on their voices. Certainly a better idea of Daar's backstory and how fast and loose I want to play with the Qunari culture.
> 
> (The answer is: my worldbuilding now.)
> 
> I do have this fic finished, I'll just be posting the last chapters one at a time so they're not all dumped at once. I'm even starting on the next fic in the series, which will cover the first few days of Daar being the Herald! Also, Cullen being thorsty as hell for things like "a superior officer" and "a higher purpose," and even "someone asserting authority and order while also engaging in the Game with Josephine and Leliana so I can stop yelling at them in meetings and actually go do some real goddamn work."
> 
> More personal stuff about why I was gone in the notes at the end, but quick warning that it's sad, so feel free to skip that.

“The Breach is a _long_ way up."

Adaar follows Thethras's gaze up and up and _up_ to the shattered sky. Grits her teeth against the blinding pulsing headache of so many strings—leading to rifts, all of them, she assumes. She kind of hopes Tethras passes out as he cranes his head all the way back. At least then it might be less embarrassing if she does it.

“Are you all right?” Rutherford asks her lowly.

He still hovers nearby, ready to support her again the moment she shows any sign of weakness. Daar straightens her back and doubles down on her resolve. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if he weren’t so Fade-blasted _nice_.

“Aren’t dwarves supposed to be afraid of the sky?” she asks Tethras instead of replying.

Tethras snorts. “I think everyone capable of looking up is scared shitless at this point."

Leliana arrives leading a handful of archers before anyone else can speak. “You’re here. And conscious. Thank the Maker for that."

“Are the troops in position around the temple?” Rutherford asks.

She nods. “Yes, Commander."

“Good. Have them start closing in on—"

Daar walks forward slowly as Rutherford issues orders and leans on the railing overlooking the crater of destruction below. Part of another floor juts out below them, also ending in a railing, and the ground is even further down.

That many levels deep had to be underground, one of the passages she’d followed those Templars down into. She stares out at rubble and cobbled stone, trying to feel any association with it at all. If she didn’t know logistically this is where she must have gone, she’d swear she’s never seen this place before in her life.

“This is your chance to end this.” Pentaghast stands next to her at the railing, then softens her voice. “Are you ready?"

“I was born ready,” Daar replies easily. “Also a ten pound, six ounce Aries. It was pretty impressive."

The Seeker’s eyes narrow in response to having her—probably very well meant—concerns brushed off. Daar pretends she doesn’t notice and turns around to lean back against the railing, elbows propped up and ankles crossed.

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there?” she asks the group in general.

Solas answers first. “No. This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach."

Daar nods. “So I never have to go up there. Nice, nice."

“Then let’s find a way down,” Pentaghast says, then shifts her eyes sideways to give Daar a pointed look. “And be careful."

Tethras and Solas give murmurs of assent and start scouting down the path to the right, but Rutherford draws Pentaghast aside. He speaks low enough that Daar can’t quite hear him, but she’s at the right angle to read the Seeker’s lips when she whispers back _Red lyrium, here? Are you certain?_

A tight nod seems to be Rutherford’s only reply.

Daar tips her head back and mentally groans at the pulsing sky. She knows lyrium, but the Templars are notoriously tight-lipped about how they use it, and now this red stuff seems to be a whole new beast altogether. Shit if she knows what it’s doing all the way up here, but cozying up to it can’t be good for Rutherford.

“Hey guys,” she says before allowing herself to process how stupid this idea is. “I found a quicker way down."

Rutherford immediately turns around, relief evident on his face. “Which way?"

Daar maintains eye contact with him as she shifts her stance, slowly turning sideways, gripping the railing. Realization flickers through his eyes a split second too late, and she leaps the railing.

Well. Daar’s body goes over the railing. It might have been more of an undignified roll. Maybe a bit of falling. The landing she makes won’t win her any acrobatic awards either, but she does land mostly on her feet. Then her knees. Elbows.

“Oof. Fuck.” Daar hauls herself back to her feet and looks up at the platform above. “See?

Rutherford looks down at her, and while he may be cute when he’s angry, abso-fucking-lutely furious doesn’t do his facial features any favors. He retreats back, and Daar thinks he’s decided to go with the side path after all.

“So much fas—"

Running footsteps.

Shit!

Daar turns and runs for the next railing herself just before Rutherford jumps too and lands behind her. Between her exhaustion and his withdrawals, it’s not much of a chase. They probably both look ridiculous, her scrambling over the railing, him staggering after her.

She doesn’t even try to get fancy with the next jump, just lets the railing hit her hip and her top-heavy bodyweight work with gravity to do the rest. That brilliant stunt results in landing on her side rather than her feet, but she takes it on the left side because that arm’s already out of commission anyway. Might as well fuck over that shoulder too.

“Fuuuck."

The thud that sounds behind her has a bit more of a metallic clang to it from Rutherford’s armor. Daar slowly pushes up to her feet as he makes the supreme effort to lurch upright too. She gets her feet underneath her, but then has to pause from there to lean over and brace her hands against her knees.

To be fair, she’s a lot taller, so she has more upwards to go than him. And hey, bent over like this, they’re practically the same height.

Rutherford takes advantage of this to grab the collar of her leather breastplate and yank her face right next to his.

“What the _hell_ do you think—"

Daar's mark shudders, reacting to the rift, and swirling mist—or maybe light? Magic? _Something_ shimmers into existence around them, forming ominous tendrils.

**Now is the hour of our victory.**

For all his fury at her a second ago, Rutherford doesn’t hesitate to pull Adaar back and place himself between her and the glowing mist. He draws his sword, but she’s not banking on it having much effect, so she doesn't bother to unsheathe her own.

"Stay behind me," he orders her.

"Can you do a Cleanse?" Daar asks.

Rutherford flinches ever so slightly as one of the whispy curls passes through his arm. "Already did."

The phantom voice booms again. **Bring forth the sacrifice.**

"Do you have any idea what this is?" Rutherford asks tightly.

"Shit, I was gonna ask you," Daar mutters back.

_Someone! Help me!_ a woman's voice cries out from the mist.

Pentaghast runs up behind them, Tethras and Solas both following close behind. Daar never has been much of a team player, but for once, she's grateful for the backup.

"Justinia!" Pentaghast shouts.

Solas grabs her arm before she can rush into the mist, and she snarls back at him. He simply stands his ground, inordinately cool in the face of a challenge for an omega.

"That was the Divine," she insists.

"Hold, Seeker," Solas says, even as he cautiously releases her arm and steps back. "These are not present occurrences, merely echoes of the past."

Pentaghast turns to Daar. "Do you remember this? Do you have any--"

"I have no idea what's going on here," Daar replies.

As if to spite her, the mist ripples again, and a new voice calls out.

_What's going on here?_

Pentaghast raises her own voice to a shout again. "That was you!"

"Responding to the Most Holy's cry for help," Rutherford comes to her defense.

"But--"

The mark and rift both flare again, cutting off the Seeker's protests as the mist solidifies into opaque images. The Divine hangs in the air, arms outstretched as if in crucifixion. Her form is somewhat transparent, but the details of her robes and face are clear enough that it can't be anyone else.

The shadow looming over her has no face however, two burning flames serving for eyes.

Maybe Daar is a bad stereotyping racist, but she's going to peg this asshole as a human, probably Tevinter to boot. Definitely a try hard show off.

And then she enters the scene. Adaar herself, passing right through her physical body as her spectral replica jogs into the crater left beneath the rift.

_What's going on here?_ it repeats.

_Run while you can,_ the Divine orders. _Warn them!_

**We have an intruder.** The shadow rises up even higher to loom over them all. **Kill the Qunari.**

The magic creating the scene bursts, and Daar throws up her right arm over her face until the mist dissipates around them. Lowering her arm reveals Rutherford has his shield raised way too high, leaving nearly his entire lower body exposed in exchange for hefting the shield up high enough to protect her head.

Pentaghast resumes her accusations before Daar can process anyone being that selfless.

Stupid, she would call it, if he weren't protecting her.

"You _were_ there! Who attacked?" Pentaghast demands. "And the Divine, was she ...? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

"I. Don't. Remember," Daar snaps back.

Tethras steps forward for the first time. "Why don't we all just cool down and back away from this bullshit slowly?"

Typical beta peacekeeper.

"Echoes of what happened here," Solas muses, answering the Seeker's question almost absently. "The Fade bleeds into this place."

He turns back to address the group. "The rift is not sealed, but it is closed ... albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"I will guard Adaar," Rutherford says immediately. "Cassandra, signal the troops."

"Stand ready!" Pentaghast calls out.

"I don't need protection, but I would like my potion back now," Daar says, making her pointed look at Pentaghast much less subtle than the Seeker's own glance earlier.

"You have done fine against the demons thus far," Pentaghast replies. "And apostate though he may be, Solas is still our medical expert. I see no reason to disregard his cautions against it."

Daar scowls. "Fine."

"Your protection is not up for debate either," Rutherford says. "I expect you to stay behind me."

" _Fine._ "

"And hold onto your weapon."

Daar crosses her arms and glares down at him. "Should I sit down too? Take a time out and get comfy? 'Cause if I'm going to play the damsel in--"

Rutherford scoffs loudly and interrupts her. "This is not about the fact that you are a woman. This is--"

"--completely unnecessary and--"

"--are exhausted from the mark--"

"--am a soldier just like you--"

"--too reckless to make your own--"

"I will make any _decision_ I damn well--"

"ENOUGH!" Pentaghast shouts. "Both of you!"

They both fall silent, but the Seeker can't stop them from maintaining furious eye contact. Daar could just use an Alpha-command to order Rutherford to stand down, and he knows it too, but he doesn't seem to give a single shit about it.

Which should _not_ be attractive, goddammit.

Tethras speaks up again, voice even and soothing. "Daar, how about you just--"

"For the love of Andraste's sweet tits."

Daar utters the curse, then raises her left hand and mentally _yanks_ on the string connected to the rift. It bursts open. Rutherford whirls around to confront anything coming through, but that doesn't stop him from yelling back at her.

"You--!"

"You can court martial me for it later, Commander!"

But then the next moment, she doubles over as the mark starts pulsing again. Hadn't she said the Breach was saving up for something big? Because it feels like her hand is giving birth. A two-story tall pride demon claws its way out of the rift, falling to the ground. It rises up slowly, almost as stunned as the people looking on in horror.

Pentaghast silently hands Daar the potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one of my previous Notes mentioned that my sister died, which is why I had to stop writing. She dealt with drug addiction and withdrawal symptoms so bad they basically made her chronically ill for about two years, which led to depression and an eating disorder. On her twentieth birthday, she committed suicide.
> 
> I had already been using Cullen as a coping-character to process my feelings about loving a drug addict fighting to stay clean and going through withdrawals, but after what happened, I just couldn't keep writing for him when it was literally that close to home. I'm also a lot more angry now that his canon character arc was so glossed over. Since this fic in the series is ending soon, it doesn't have too much of those themes, but I do plan on addressing the realities of drug addiction, *realistic* withdrawal, care-taking for someone suffering withdrawal, suicide idealation, depression, PTSD, and maybe eating disorders as well. As always, I'll post trigger warnings for whatever occurs in the individual chapters, I just wanted to give everyone a heads up as to where this series is headed.
> 
> But I'd also like to clarify that means there'll be nothing but angst! I'm specifically writing these subjects for my own healing and processing journey, and Cullen / Daar's own journeys will also be ones of healing. The next fic especially focuses on both of them realizing they've had similar traumas, and can understand and empathize with each other. For Cullen, that means support and validation he didn't realize he could have, while Daar slowly learns to trust and make genuine friendships. No major character deaths, no needless miscommunication drama, and the angst is just a starting point for recovery.
> 
> I really hope that people who liked this story before will come back and stick with me, because this ship means an unexplainable amount to me and I really think we'll have fun together! Daar and Cullen certainly will :)


	10. Universal Shit Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daar decides to take the two-story Pride demon one-on-one, because that's a good idea. Cullen gets all noble and self-sacrificing for a hot second, but he pulls through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First of all, thank you for everyone who gave this story a second chance. I'm really glad to have you back!
> 
> Secondly, it looks like Thursdays are the best day for my schedule to edit and post chapters, so that's when I'll be updating this. We've got about two more chapters before this arc wraps up, and then we'll move on to the next fic. I'll try to keep updates weekly, but there might be a short break in between the two fics, just to give me time to edit chapters and get it all worked out.
> 
> And finally, some good news about my life is in the end notes, since the last update was so heavy.

Adaar looks at the two story pride demon and decides she's had worse days. That doesn't say anything good for her life so far, since today is just now working up to her top ten Bad Days.

She knocks back her potion and braces herself for the kick. Her heart skips a beat, astral projects out of her chest, and then slams back inside.

Daar shakes it off with a grunt and a deep cough, then hands the fourth of the potion left in the bottle to Rutherford. He doesn't even hesitate before downing the rest. Probably still accustomed to having a drought of lyrium before battle, but this is nothing like that. She's heard lyrium is like a sweet siren's song filling your veins with liquid power, but this is like having your lungs stomped on by a troll.

Rutherford gets caught between a cough and a wheeze, but he toughs it out all right. Might put some more hair on his chest. Does he have hair on his chest? Humans are supposed to be somewhere between elves and dwarves, but they're just so damn unpredictable in every—

Focus.

"Leliana's archers aren't in place yet," Pentaghast announces. "We need to buy time for—"

"I got it," Daar says, tearing her eyes away from Rutherford's chest. "I opened the Rift, so I'll handle this."

Said ex-Templar gets his breath back enough to protest. "You will not _handle this_ on your own."

"It's gonna come for me first anyway."

He starts to reply, but falls silent as the demon swings its head back and forth, sniffing the air. It won't be long before it spots their group hunkered down among the scant cover the rubble provides.

"Cassandra and I will flank it while you draw its attention," Rutherford continues in a lower voice. "If we can divide its aggression between the three of us—"

The mark contracts again, although blessedly less painful than before. It might hurt less now that there isn't a giant pride demon trying to rip through the Rift anymore, but there's no time to ponder that theory as said demon snaps its head over and spots them.

Daar gives Rutherford's shoulder a quick pat. "Yeah, good plan. You get on that."

Then she's up and running across the courtyard before he can stop her. The demon immediately focuses on her movement, so if Rutherford and Pentaghast can move quiet and slow, they might get into a good position for a surprise flank attack.

"Hey, asshole!" Daar shouts. "By the time I'm done, you're gonna be a humility spirit!"

This demon may not be smart enough to understand speech, but shit-talk is a universal language, and it responds to the challenge by letting out a bellowing roar. Daar doesn't let it phase her. She draws her borrowed sword with her right hand and unclenches her left enough to hold the length of chain wrapped around her waist.

Her true weapon was already stripped from her and symbolically smelted down years ago. Just to be extra sure she'd get the message that she no longer had a family, a home, or a soul. But the faint string leading to the fuck off big battleaxe she'd chosen herself afterwards led just past the pride demon. If she could get to that, she might have a chance.

The demon responds to her counter-challenge by materializing a whip crackling with electricity, three times the length and size of Daar's own chain.

"... yeah, well, it's how you use it."

***

Cullen watches in horror as Adaar charges directly at the giant abomination. Only more than a decade of Templar training keeps him from breaking position to run after her. She drops down and slides across the icy ground at the last possible second to slip between the demon's legs.

_Maker, give us just one more minute._

Cassandra moves in time with him across the courtyard on the demon's left, both of them running in a low crouch, as stealthily as two people clad entirely in metal plate armor can. Varric shoots off a few crossbow bolts that aren't meant to do anything more than sting a little and piss the demon off, while the mage performs the magical equivalent of a light show.

Or perhaps he truly is doing something to help calm the Rift. Hell if Cullen knows, just so long as it holds the demon's attention for thirty more se—

The pride demon whirls around with a roar, revealing Daar clinging to its back. Maker's goddamn _breath_ , she's using her length of chain and sword as a makeshift grappling hook and piton to scale up its spiked spine. One massive clawed hand paws over its shoulder, unable to reach far back enough to grab her. But once she climbs high enough ...

The plan was to wait for Leliana's archers to get into position and release their volley, then charge the demon immediately afterward. Cullen makes eye contact with Cassandra and hopes she's willing to abandon that plan too.

"Andraste's flame!" he yells as a battle cry.

A moment later he hears Cassandra's own shout of "For Justinia!" and then they both charge the demon from its sides. He sidesteps and tries to maneuver behind the pride demon to get at the tendon in the back of its knee. The demon stamps and lurches around too much for any kind of accuracy though, and the most he gets is a few cuts to its calf.

Bright green light flashes from the Rift above, and the demon stiffens with a shriek. Cullen takes advantage of the moment to move in close without getting trampled and finally slashes through its tendon. The demon screams again and shakes itself erratically, forcing Cullen to retreat.

Daar's legs wrap around one of its horns, thighs clamped down while the demon bucks and staggers like an enraged druffalo. A magical link between her mark and the Rift crackles as she attempts to seal it, but the demon finally succeeds in throwing her off, sending her crashing down into the snow.

"Now!" Cassandra shouts.

Cullen barely hears her, already running to protect Adaar, heedless of getting caught in the crossfire. Fortunately, the majority of the archers aim for the demon's center mass, putting their arrows above his head.

Unfortunately, the pride demon disregards the volley of arrows staggering its body with a contemptuous roar. Cullen slides to a stop before he reaches Daar struggling to get to her feet, and he turns to face the demon. Blood drips down its face from one gouged eye, but like the arrows, the injury only seems to enrage it. Cassandra gets hit by the abomination's whip as it lashes out wildly, preventing anyone from coming too close.

_Andraste, grant us mercy._

Cullen lowers his sword and closes his eyes. He grasps at the hollow crater left in his mind that was once filled with the song of lyrium, and for a moment it feels entirely barren. There's nothing left but the exhaustion, the unnatural adrenaline of the potion, and the shuddering of his own heart.

Then he finds the power, already shriveled so much from what it once was. But what he has now will simply have to do.

The demon struggles as Cullen uses his training to reassert reality, a concrete plane of existence devoid of magic and anomalies. Yet there's no blast like thunder from the heavens, not this time without any lyrium fueling the assertion. All that's left is his own life force. The power rips out of him as if his insides are being scooped out for sacrifice—and the result hardly even slows the demon after the initial shock.

His knees hit the ground before he's aware of falling. His shield clatters next, the thick metal too heavy for his weary arm to hold up. The demon draws back its arm to bring the whip down on him. Keeping a grip on his sword is a moot point when he knows he can't lift that either, but Cullen will be damned if he dies without a sword in his hand, so he uses the last of his strength to tighten his grip.

The crackling whip swings down, and he sends out one last prayer to the Maker for clemency. Not for himself. He's lived his life, made his mistakes—falling in a battle to possibly save the world is a hell of a lot better than any lyrium-withdrawn ex-Templar could expect, and he's grateful to meet his end here rather than in a gutter.

_But Maker, please save her._

And then the whip hits like a burst of lightning. Cullen can barely see through the sparking blue and glowing green of two warring magics, but someone stands between him and the demon. A scream of rage rises above the crackle of magic. Blue and green glint off of metal, and he realizes it's Daar with a battleaxe, the demon's whip wrapped around the handle and double blade.

Adaar snarls in pain as the demon sends another pulse of lightning down the whip, then brings down her battleaxe with a roar to slice through the whip. Daar and the demon both stumble back with the electric connection between them ended. She drops the axe and bends over, bracing her hands against her thighs as she huffs. Cullen gets one foot beneath him, his other knee still pressed into the snow. Black creeps into the edges of his vision just from that.

The pride demon recovers first and more abominations pour out from the Rift. Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana switch to targeting the new swarm so they don't immediately overrun their forces. Maker only knows where the apostate has vanished off to, and that leaves Daar to face down the pride demon on her own.

The metal blade of her battleaxe steams in the snow, heated and deformed by the lightning whip. Daar stands against the demon alone, unarmed, and freshly electrocuted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so good news! In the last year, I've gotten an amazing job as a librarian that pays well above minimum wage and includes healthcare. I also live in a very nice apartment in a city far enough away from my parents that they can't drop in on my unexpectedly, but close enough I can still drive home on the weekend and visit their dogs. 
> 
> The oldest is two years and a red Australian Heeler named Zoey, and the puppy is almost a year old American Miniature Shepherd named Major. Zoey likes to sniff people all over like she's a hard-boiled detective on a Hard Case, and she gives you a very offended look if you try to interrupt this process by petting her. Major is a big spoiled cry baby who makes a lot of snuffling noises, voices his Many Opinions with soft whining awoo barks, and has gotten kind of fat because my parents give him way too many treats.
> 
> Also, my dad wouldn't let me buy him a piggy costume last Halloween because he didn't want his precious baby son to look stupid, but he would have looked adorable!! And he's fat and he snuffles!! The Maker himself cannot hold me back from buying Major a piggy costume for Halloween this year.
> 
> I think rambling about my dogs is a very appropriate Fereldan-themed commentary for this fic.


	11. Uncategorized Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daar has Feelings, and it's so shocking, her brain immediately shuts down and she passes out. Also, Cullen helps her kill a Pride demon. Way less of a big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second-to-last chapter, whooo! We're just about to wrap up this story arc with a little more perspective from Cullen. Daar and I are really putting the poor boy through a lot ...
> 
> I'll talk more about the next fic in the series and how that will update next chapter, since it will be the last one. And the notes down at the end have some new info about a cat I'm adopting!

Daar had never worried much about Pride demons because she’d always been too proud to accept their bargains. Yes, she would make an excellent world leader, but hell no she didn’t need their _help_ to get there. If she wanted the world, she’d just go out and take it all on her own.

There’s a human saying about pride and falls that feels unnecessarily ironic as she stares down a two-story demon with a melted battleaxe and no backup. The golden string connecting her to one Commander Cullen Rutherford throbs as if to remind her she still has him.

And isn’t that the fucking problem. She should be moving _right now_ to take advantage of the demon’s shock at having its whip severed, but instead Daar keeps herself between it and her injured mate because she’s an emotionally compromised dumbass.

“Sword."

The gasped word comes from behind her, just before said sword slides between her feet to rest on the ice in front of her. She risks a backwards glance to see Rutherford stagger to his feet with only his shield. He gives her a grim nod.

Which, damn. Not even Daar is stupid enough to go falling in love with anybody, but he is earning a hell of a lot of respect, and that means more to her anyway.

Solas and Cassandra keep the monster well enough occupied, but even between the two of them and several archers, they’re all hard-pressed just to hold the monster back. Need to shake things up if they actually want to start winning. Daar grabs the sword and spends a few more crucial seconds of time to talk strategy.

“Drive it north,” she tells Rutherford. “Have Tethras and Solas hit it hard on the left side. Two minutes."

He raps his fist against his chest in a salute instead of wasting his breath on a response. She doesn’t tell him to cover her, but he does so anyway as she runs off the battlefield. Can’t go making emotionally-compromised decisions like _stay and protect your mate_ in the middle of a battle.

Besides, offense is always the best defense.

Daar repeats that mantra in her head as she hauls ass up stairs and stone. It took so little time to jump down, but running up the convoluted mess of rubble and half-recognizable rooms feels like one of those Fade dreams where she runs forever and never moves.

She reaches the top where they first spotted the Breach with fifteen seconds to spare. She uses twelve of them to scan the fight below. Rutherford at least had the good sense to regroup with Pentaghast, using his shield to keep the smaller demons off the Seeker as she helps Solas antagonize the Pride demon. And yes, Tethras crouches off in the corner, readying some sort of special shot.

One. Daar backs up a good distance for momentum.

Two. She checks the pull of everyone’s strings to verify their positions.

Three. Run forward and jump.

The flattened ruins are three stories below, which only puts the demon at two. Its close enough to the north wall Daar jumps from for her to make it though, and she slams into its head just as an explosion hits the demon in the side. The two forces topple it sideways, forcing it to put all its weight on the leg Rutherford already crippled with a severed tendon.

Pride really does cometh before the—Daar and the demon both hit the ground before she can savor that pun, but she at least lands mostly on its neck and head. Yeah, hope that broke something, asshole. It definitely broke at least two of Daar’s ribs, but that doesn’t stop her from unsheathing Rutherford’s sword and driving it through the demon’s other eye.

Size doesn’t mean shit if you can get your opponent on the ground. Daar takes full advantage of her position on top to pull the sword halfway out, then shove it back in, trying to aim up and center to get to the demon’s brain.

A string tightens, and she automatically throws up her left arm to block whoever is coming at her. Metal slams into her side the next second. Her left shoulder screams in protest, but getting her arm up in time kept the metal armor from hitting her ribs. The grunt of pain from the other person sounds familiar. A quick inventory of strings reveals the golden one is shortest at the moment.

Rutherford, protecting her again. Daar shifts her weight to put more of it behind the sword slowly driving deeper into the demon’s head. The shift causes Rutherford to bear down more heavily on her. Claws drop down around her, but he must have his shield wedged up against the demon's hand somehow to prevent it from crushing them both in its fist.

Still a tight squeeze though, so Daar does what she does best and cheats.

So many strings to sort through, but luckily, the string leading up to the original rift this giant fucker came through pulses green and insistent in her mind. She does another mental grab-and-yank, just like she did to open it.

Andraste must really be guiding her, because it works. Not well enough to close the rift immediately, but the demon beneath them locks up and shudders. That’s all the opening she needs to put some muscle in it and push the sword—along with half her arm—up into its skull.

The demon jerks, its hand instinctively tightening until Daar is certain she’ll die with her mate on the same day she met him. Then it falls completely slack.

Rutherford shoves the hand off them. Her ribs really appreciate that, but her work isn’t done yet. Her next yank on the green line of power to the rift works much better now that the Pride demon is dead, and the other abominations quickly break apart to be sucked back into the sealing rift.

“Tah-dah,” Daar announces.

And everyone applauds. Wait no, that rhythmic thumping sound is just her heartbeat. Shit, that should be down in her chest, not between her ears.

“Adaar!"

Hmm. Well, her vision is black and her mate sounds on the edge of panicking, so this is probably Not Good. She could dissociate and power through this, but she’s surrounded by people she doesn’t know or trust, while apparently having a bad reaction to the healing-potion-caffeine-powder mix. The chances of her killing multiple people and possibly abducting her mate—if she doesn’t kill him too—are a little too high to be reasonable.

“Mage! Get that damn mage, _now_!"

No. False. Wrong. Aside from Solas's attitude almost guaranteeing a paranoia-induced murder spree if she wakes up under his care, Daar would really prefer not to be outed in her sleep. Given the extent of her injuries, they might strip her down for healing or care, and then--

“Pavus,” Daar gasps.

“What or who?” Rutherford’s terse voice asks.

Dammit, she can barely see him. Too much black clamoring at the corners of her vision even when she concentrates. All she can really make out is his hair. Golden, like the string, like his eyes—what the shit is she thinking, stop that nonsense immediately.

“Dorian … Pavus,” she repeats through gritted teeth. “Mage. Conclave. Alive."

“Let me see.” A new voice drops down beside her. “I may be able to ascertain—"

Daar twists her hand out of the mage’s in a move that should have left his wrist in her grip to be broken, but he somehow snatches it back too quickly for her. Shit, she may actually be dying. Is she really stubborn enough to risk--

“Hold her down before she destabilizes the Mark!"

Hell yes she is.

“Fuck the Mark!"

Rutherford's reply makes her inside-feelings kind of do something. Feel warm maybe. But Tal-Vashoth or no, Qunari don’t have feelings, so Daar shoves that useless bullshit down deep.

“Pavus."

Just saying the name again seems to sap her strength, because now even the gold halo of her mate is gone. But she can’t afford to pass out yet.

“Does anyone know that mage?"

Rutherford’s voice. Good, he’s still fighting for her. Highly unexpected, actually having someone on her side, but everything else she’d always assumed about the person at the end of her string had been wrong too.

“Yeah, but you really aren’t gonna like it, Curly."

“Where. Is. He."

The rest of the conversation fades in and out. Her heartbeat overwhelms the other voices. Way too fast. If she could speak, Daar would tell them to scoop up some snow on her chest. The cold might help slow it down. She nearly falls unconscious while people bicker around her. Or maybe she does for a few seconds. Shouting sends her mind slamming back inside her body.

“A Tevinter necromancer?!"

Adaar opens her eyes.

Civilian-mage-omega-enemy. Crouched to her left. No strings on it. Highly suspicious, likely a spy, eliminate first.

Civilian-archer-beta-irrelevant. To her right. Peacekeeper, unlikely to attack. Eliminate if necessary, target crossbow first.

Soldier-alpha-threat. Yelling loudly. Right Hand, dragon slayer, short temper. Normal strings, easily manipulated, eliminate second.

Soldier-omega-

Something. Her brain tries to throw out several possibilities—asset, shield, human—but Daar is out of time and options. Whatever this thing is, it has a golden string leading back to her, so it clearly belongs to her. She kicks its kneecap to make it fall down on top of her.

Another inside-feeling tries to happen when the golden thing goes down but doesn’t protest the sudden attack or the pain. Adaar ignores that. It should be more prepared for attacks.

“Pavus,” Adaar orders the golden thing.

It grabs her arm and eases her down gently when her body sways. Adaar uses the little control she has left to grab it by the throat. Not to eliminate, but insurance against attack is necessary. An unexpected texture registers against the back of her own neck, and her grip automatically tightens.

Process texture. Soft. Warm. Animal skin. Separating her head from the cold ground. Animal skin candidates: wolf pelt on civilian-enemy or pauldron on Uncategorized Human. Wolf pelt immediately rejected. Strong repulsive smell not present. Must be pauldron.

“Pavus, understood."

Adaar recalls the word for what the golden thing is. Mate. The realization that she is emotionally compromised even this deep in dissociation hits her hard enough that she finally loses consciousness completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the cat's name is Sipsey, but I'm hoping I can change it to Addy, short for Admiral. I mentioned in a previous chapter that my dad's dog is named Major, and I want my cat to outrank him. (If an Admiral doesn't actually outrank a Major, pls just ...... don't tell me. I'm a dumb gay who knows nothing about the military, don't spoil this for me.)
> 
> She's 2-3 years old, about 10 pounds, and a domestic shorthair. She has black fur, with a split of apricot coloring down one half of her face. I'm going to meet her for the first time today and decide whether or not she's the cat for me!
> 
> Next week, next chapter, I'll let you all know how it went either way ^^


	12. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen relapses, Adaar dissociates, and Dorian snarks. What a beautiful beginning for this found family!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at our last chapter! I'm going to take a two week break or so to get started on the next fic in the series, which shows Daar begrudgingly accepting her role as Herald of Andraste and making some real attempts to open up to Cullen, who is a hot angry mess, but still trying desperately to Do The Right Thing.
> 
> some personal end notes after the chapter, and spoiler-y trigger warnings for this chapter below
> 
> ...
> 
> trigger warnings for drug use, relapsing, and more dissociating

Cullen can't carry his mate. She has two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a bad ankle sprain. After being electrocuted. His mate lays injured and vulnerable, and he doesn't have the physical strength to carry her down the mountain to safety. Cassandra sends for any soldier big enough to help her lift Adaar's unconscious body. Because he can't--his mate is right here and he cannot--

Not without lyrium.

Cassandra does try to stop him when he slips the phial out of his boot, but he deftly tosses it to his left hand, uncorks it with his teeth, and drinks it straight. She drops her grip on his right hand with a sigh. The phial isn't even half his usual dose, but after so long, it feels like everything.

And the song. He'd been so empty without it, his mind hollow but not quiet--never quiet, not with the memories and echoes of voices, but now! Now, the blessed song burns out all the bad thoughts, the indecision and the regret and the fear.

Cullen scoops Daar up in his arms without effort. The lyrium sears away his exhaustion and the pain he should feel in his knee. Maybe if he had taken it sooner, he could have prevented his mate from being injured in the first place. At the very least, she wouldn't have needed to jump in front of the whip for him.

The others give him a wide berth, but that suits him just fine. Perhaps due to the lyrium or the Templar training--or his own broken psychology--his instincts are still to fight and protect, rather than submit and nurture like a good omega. Anytime someone does get too close, he glares them down, barely resisting the urge to bare his teeth. Cassandra is the only one he lets hover nearby, although her blatant looks of concerned disapproval grate on him.

"Sir, the demons have--" The squire from earlier stops and gapes over his shoulder. "Did she really close the rift?"

"Continue your report," Cullen orders.

"Uh, yes sir. The demons have disappeared, leaving the path down clear for--"

Cullen walks past him without a dismissal. Hardly professional, but Adaar needs immediate medical attention, and he needs to find that Tevinter mage. The squire tags along behind him. Probably doesn't have anyone else to go since Templar Barris is still missing. When he strays a little too close trying to get a glimpse of Adaar's Mark, Cullen decides the boy clearly needs work to do.

"Dorian Pavus, find him."

To his credit, the boy is at least smart enough to step back. "Yes sir. Soldier?"

"Tevinter mage."

"Sir?"

Cassandra finishes whatever hushed orders she gave to Solas and Tethras, and she strides over.

"Tethras still claims that's all he knows of the mage, although he suggested we search Haven's tavern first," she says.

Cullen looks back to the squire. "Go."

"Yes, sir!"

Cassandra at least waits until the boy has gone before she opens her mouth to undoubtedly give him a lecture on using the lyrium, but Cullen keeps moving. After a few seconds and an angry huff, she follows. Adaar still doesn't stir in his arms. At least her breathing is steady.

Maker, let the lyrium last long enough to get her back to Haven.

**xxx**

He should have been more worried about Adaar than the lyrium. She wakes up halfway down the mountain, which he only notices when her thighs lock around his left arm.

Cullen braces himself for an attack, and he's just able to support her when Adaar sits up, shifting her weight entirely onto the one arm. The lyrium gives him strength and suppresses the pain he should feel in the kneecap she kicked earlier, so he stays upright. She doesn't give him time to put her in a better hold however before she throws herself sideways onto his head and shoulders. His plate armor was made for him and normally balanced well, but the ground is slick and uneven, and she catches him entirely off guard.

A split second of teetering vertigo makes his stomach clench before they both hit the ground.

Mate or not, getting pinned on the ground by an alpha sends Cullen's fight-or-flight instincts screaming for fight. Apparently, Adaar's feel the same because she goes straight for his neck again. He grabs her wrist at the same time her fingers close around her throat. His other hand--

Has a dagger in it. Wedged up underneath her leather breastplate, right over her kidney. Maker, it's only been a few weeks, but he's forgotten how gloriously _fast_ he can move, how _strong_ the lyrium makes him. The bones in Adaar's wrist grind beneath his hand before he remembers this is his mate.

The person staring down at him is not Daar, however. This soldier assesses him like a chessboard. As if him threatening to stab her is just a reasonable countermove to her hand around his throat. Worse, he gets the feeling she's already three moves ahead. A kidney shot isn't necessarily fatal and he's willing to bet she's ambidextrous, but he can't survive a crushed larnyx.

Cassandra shouts orders at Adaar with her sword drawn, but Cullen doesn't listen. Daar is inside of the soldier staring at him, just like he's technically still there when he wakes up swinging from a nightmare. Maybe he should submit or at least try to comfort her, but he never learned how to be a good omega.

He does know what it's like to be a soldier though.

"Commander Cullen Rutherford," he rattles off like he's reporting for roll call. "Fereldan, half mile north of Haven, nine forty-one dragon age."

That seems to bring a spark of recognition to Adaar's eyes past the empty stare.

"Stand down, soldier," Cullen orders with all the authority he can muster.

To his absolute shock, Adaar loosens her grip. He pulls his dagger back as an equal show of good faith, and she lets go of his throat just as slowly until he can bring both their hands down. She tips her head at him a tiny fraction.

"Commander." She takes her weight off of his hips and sits back on her haunches. "Wrong eyes."

Cullen blinks. He knows Templars give off a certain aura when using lyrium, although the description always varies. Civilians most commonly complained of a terrifying gaze or flat, dead eyes. Had he been staring back at her the same emotionless way she looked at him?

"Are you ..." He cuts off the impulse to finish that with _all right_ and settles for a question that might mean something. "Injured?"

"That's classified," Adaar says.

"Why do you keep attacking?" Cassandra steps in to demand. "We are trying to transport you to the mage you demanded, before the Mark desta--"

"Tired."

Adaar falls forward into Cullen's arms immediately after making the announcement, and he fumbles to catch her. He's never had--well, he's had a few women throw themselves at him, but he dropped each of them too. Luckily, Adaar seems to know what she's doing and makes it a controlled fall to end up perfectly slumped against his chest with her head tucked under his chin.

Cassandra sheathes her sword, but stabs an accusing finger at them. "She is faking!"

"Her life force does indicate she has not yet passed back into unconsciousness," Solas feels the need to add.

Adaar lays still, and Cullen automatically wraps his arms around her protectively.

"She is exhausted," he tells Cassandra. "And we need to keep moving."

Her face wrenches itself into a scowl, but he busies himself with picking up Adaar without overbalancing so she can't argue with him.

"Well I for one think playing dead to avoid an uncomfortable conversation with our dear Seeker is an excellent strategy," Tethras says.

Cassandra whirls on him next. "Is that why we cannot contact Hawke? Or Anders?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

**xxx**

By the time they make it down the blasted mountain, Adaar's Mark takes the number one spot on Cullen's list of concerns. It sparks nearly constantly, and the damn elven mage keeps trying to sneak in close to grab at her hand.

"I have more expertise than--"

"No," Cullen snarls for the fourth time.

"Fine!" The mage finally steps back. "Let her die due to your own prejudice then."

If Cullen didn't literally have his hands full at the moment, he would have drawn his sword. Tethras quickly opens the door to the healer's cabin for him though, then moves out of his way, ushering the mage back too at the same time. A tall dark-haired mage waits inside, leaning indolently against the counter with a bottle of wine still in one hand. His scent is too clogged with foreign spices for Cullen to decide if he's a beta or another omega.

"Pavus?" he asks, clutching Adaar's body close.

"Altus Dorian Pavus, at your service," the man replies with a wave of his non-occupied hand. "Is that my mysterious patient?"

Cullen moves to lay Adaar down on the cot as soon as Pavus confirms his identity without making his own introduction. He doesn't bother answering the other man's question either. The Mark thrumming with magic on her hand should be answer enough. Pavus saunters over to take a look at her.

"I imagine you hear this quite often as a Templar," he says. "But I have never seen that woman before in my life."

Cullen grips the pommel of his sword so he doesn't strangle the man. "She asked for you specifically."

Pavus opens his mouth to reply, but Cullen cuts him off.

"By name. You."

Pavus closes his mouth and considers her again. "Well. I suppose I am flattered, but--"

The Mark pulses so violently, green sparks skitter down her arm. The veins in her wrist have turned black. Cullen doesn't want to find out what happens when the blackness creeps up her arm. Another pulse hits, and Adaar jerks. He moves to hold her down in case she starts thrashing, but she sits up and grabs his arm in an instant. The empty stare almost seems familiar at this point.

Cullen kneels beside the cot slowly. "Commander Cullen Rutherford. Ferelden, Haven, nine for--"

"Commander," Adaar says.

Her voice lacks any inflection or emotion, so he can't tell how much pain she's in. She must be somewhat coherent still to recognize him though. Pavus wisely stays absolutely still until her gaze sweeps over to him.

"Altus Dorian Pavus," she says next. "Te auxilium rogo."

The mage blinks at her several times before he recovers with a slight bow. "Ah, shanedan."

Adaar makes a noise between a hum and a grunt, then lays back down. She breathes in and out at a deliberately even pace. Cullen has the sinking feeling that it's her version of panting with pain. Her grip on his wrist tightens to the point that he'll likely have bruises to match the ones he left on her wrist. He turns back to glare at the mage.

"What did she say?"

Pavus speaks slowly, almost as if he doesn't believe his own words. "She asked me politely to help her. I said--well, if I remember the translation right, I think I said something close to _I hear you_ , but it's more commonly used as a very formal greeting, which is about my limit of Qunlat. She does speak the Trade tongue, right?"

Cullen doesn't need to see the Mark to know it flares again from the way Adaar's claws dig into his gauntlet. The reinforced metal is likely the only thing that stops her from breaking his wrist.

"Just fix her!" he snaps at Pavus.

The mage seems to reach a decision and finally puts down the bottle. "Very well. But I cannot have you hovering over me like this is a Harrowing."

Cullen starts to protest, but Pavus just speaks over him.

"This is a small cabin, and you're already in my way." Pavus waves his hands at him like he's a cat. "Go!"

Cullen can't make himself move until Adaar's grip eases, then tightens once more before letting go entirely. She doesn't speak or open her eyes again, but he knows that was an agreement. He forces himself to stand and then to walk away. Tethras waits for him outside the cabin when he steps out.

"That squire boy you sent made sure the regular healer cleared out the cabin and wrangled our dapper friend out of the tavern," Tethras says.

"Pavus could kill her and no one would know."

Tethras just sighs at his dark mutterings. "Relax, Curly. I think Daar knows what she's doing. You should get some rest."

Cullen barks out a sound meant to be a laugh.

"Listen, Cassandra gave me strict orders to make sure you don't sit here in the snow pining and freezing your ass off," Tethras says. "So why don't you do me and my still-attached limbs a favor, and come have a beer, huh? Everyone's celebrating."

"The Breach still isn't closed and the Divine is still dead," Cullen replies.

"And here I was just thinking about how what I really missed most about leaving Kirkwall was your cheerful outlook." The dwarf gives a disappointed shake of his head. "All right, how about this? All the soldiers we have left are currently at the tavern. If you want anything close to a headcount, that's where you need to go."

Cullen glares at him. "I am not leaving her alone in the hands of a Tevinter necromancy."

"I'll wait here," Tethras volunteers. "You do your headcount, get some food, maybe sit down a minute. There's nothing you can do for her right now anyway."

Cullen clenches his fists. He is already well aware there's nothing he can do. That's exactly what's pissing him off so badly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Adaar will recover. She will be fine. But if there are more rifts like the one on the mountain, all with demons pouring out, Haven will need some sort of military force to defend it. That's what he can do for her. Keep Haven safe until she recovers.

"Twenty minutes," he tells Tethras.

The dwarf sighs again in response. Cullen walks away before Tethras starts trying to offer more advice. Adaar will recover. She will be fine. And he will defend Haven until that's so.

Maker, let it be so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually won't be adopting a cat because it turns out I'm super allergic to just this cat specifically, and I broke out in hives, had a panic attack, and then slept 18 hours. Not quite all at once, but it's been a stressful few days.
> 
> On that note, even though I'll try to get the next fic posted in two weeks, I might be too busy cleaning up after that Disaster to meet that deadline exactly. But I'll try my best!
> 
> The fic will be called The First Few Days of an Entirely Heretical Regime, and I'll link it to this one by making them both part of the same series, so keep an eye out for that around the middle of the month!

**Author's Note:**

> so not much time to get into the real social dynamics of this a/b/o universe I made in a drabble, especially the differences between Fereldan culture and the Qun, but I'm having fun practicing my worldbuilding. let me know how I'm doing and what questions you'd like to see answered!
> 
> also, I know whether a character would be an Alpha / Beta / Omega is subject to interpretation, but Solas absolutely definitely would for sure be soooooo smug about being an omega. like yeah, alphas might come first, they might _think_ they're the most important, but the omega is the end of the alphabet, just like he, Fenris, god of fucking people over, will be The End of this era--
> 
> insert "man shut the hell up" quote here from Adaar


End file.
